Flash
by L. Greene
Summary: A collection of related Destiel scenes. But how are they related? M for language and sexual content. Entirely Destiel, hints of later Sabriel. Complete!
1. Scene One: The Promise of Tomorrow

**Hi, all! It's me again, with a new story to tickle your Destiel-shipping hearts (and yes, it's all Destiel this time.) You will notice that there is no sexual content or language in this chapter, and that's because I decided to play a game with you all: "How Many Emotions Can I Fit in One Scene?" Answer: Well, if I've done it right, about a thousand. Next scene is a little more mature, though.**

**Blah-blah-blah Eric Kripke, Supernatural, not for monetary gain, whatever.**

* * *

_Flash!_

The little boy was probably about three years old. Already, he had his father's green eyes and his mother's light-brown hair. Those freckles, though—they'd come from hours in the sun.

He ran a good fifteen feet ahead of his parents as they walked to the park, but once he realized how far behind they were, he doubled back, ran around their legs, and charged ahead again.

This made his father laugh. "A ball of energy, that kid."

His mother just smiled fondly.

When they arrived at the park, there were only two others around: two other little boys, one who looked to be around six or seven years old, and one who was somewhere between three and five. The older one, a boy with long, golden-blond hair, was sitting on a bench, watching the younger dark-haired one playing on the jungle gym. The little boy with his parents hardly paid either of the other children any heed—he dashed off to the sandbox and started packing sand in a round blue bucket.

"Dean," his mother started to call, but his father put his hand on her arm.

"He's fine—we'll just have him shake out his shoes before we get home."

Dean, meanwhile, carefully overturned the bucket and held it down against the sand. He lifted the bucket and was disappointed to see the pile peter out into a formless mound. Brow furrowed in frustration, he tried again, methodically shoveling sand into the bucket as though he could force it to stay perfectly formed by his own sheer will.

"That's not going to work," said a small voice behind him.

Dean turned his upper body around and looked up. It was the dark-haired boy who'd been on the jungle gym only a few minutes before. The first thing that registered in Dean's mind was that this boy had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen in his life. The second thing that registered was what the boy had said. "Why not?" he asked, looking back into the bucket as if it would reveal the secret on its own.

"The sand needs to be wet. Otherwise, it won't stick. Here, look." The dark-haired little boy held out his hand over the sand and it immediately grew darker, changing from the same light-brown as Dean's hair to a much darker brown. "Now try."

But Dean could only look at this boy with a mix of fear and wonder. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I just do. But…" He lowered his voice. "My brother doesn't like it when I do stuff like that. He thinks I'll get in trouble." He suddenly looked at Dean fearfully. "You won't tell him, right?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I won't."

He smiled. "Thank you. Can I play with you?"

Dean nodded. "Sure."

The little boy plopped down in the sand across from Dean and picked up a green square pail and two little plastic shovels. He handed one shovel to Dean and for several long minutes, the two worked together in silence. By an unspoken agreement, they overturned their buckets right next to each other, and when they lifted them, Dean saw that the other boy was right—the sand was retaining its shape. "Hey, neat!" he said excitedly, grinning at the boy.

The boy smiled and set his little green pail aside. As Dean started packing more sand into his own bucket, the other boy reached across the sand pit to pick up another sandcastle mold—this time, an squat orange one that looked like a castle wall. As he did so, though, his arm knocked against the tower Dean had made and it toppled into nothing. As if he'd been burned, he jerked his arm back, his eyes filling with tears.

"Hey! You did that on purpose!" Dean said accusingly, staring at his now-ruined handiwork.

"No, I didn't! It was an accident!"

"You're a liar!" Even before the words left his mouth, though, Dean regretted them. He knew the other boy wasn't lying—he saw him reaching for the sandcastle mold. But when he looked back and saw that the tears filling the boy's eyes were spilling down his cheeks, it almost broke his little heart.

For a moment, Dean took in his toddler-chubby cheeks streaked with tears, his tiny body heaving with silent sobs, his impossibly blue eyes scrunched closed. Then Dean stood up, crossed the two feet separating them, and dropped to his knees, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, knowing the other boy would hear him. "I didn't mean it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My mom says I say things without thinking them through. I don't know what that means, but I think it means I'm dumb."

He felt the other boy return his hug, putting his arms around him and squeezing. "I don't think you're dumb."

"I do. I shouldn't've made you cry."

The boy sniffled. "It's okay."

Dean pulled back. "Wanna be my friend?"

The boy smiled and nodded.

Dean smiled back. "Okay. I'm Dean."

"Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel."

"Cas-teel?"

"Cas-tee-el," the little boy repeated, unable to hold back a small smile at the butchered pronunciation of his name.

"Can I just call you Cas?"

Castiel nodded.

"I don't wanna play in the sand anymore. Wanna play on the playscape?"

"I thought that was just for big kids."

"My mom and dad are here. If they're watching us, it's okay."

"Then okay."

"Cool!" Dean jumped to his feet and waited until Castiel picked himself up and wiped his cheeks before dashing off to the brightly-colored structure. Castiel chased after him and for the rest of the afternoon, the two of them played on all the slides and swung from the monkey bars and charged along the chain bridges, yelling and cheering and laughing. When Dean's mom finally called him back over so they could walk home, Dean hid underneath a slide next to Castiel. "I don't wanna go home," he said. "I wanna stay here with you, Cas."

"You can come back tomorrow," Castiel said. "We come here almost every day. I promise to be here tomorrow if you promise."

Dean nodded rapidly. "I promise!" he vowed. He poked his head out from behind the slide and saw that his dad was still sitting on the bench, meaning his mom was ready to leave but his dad wasn't. He still had a little more time.

"Maybe you can come play at my house later," Dean said.

Castiel smiled. "I would like that." Without preamble, he leaned over and kissed Dean's cheek.

Dean felt himself blushing even though he wasn't quite sure why. He looked at Castiel for a moment, his mouth hanging open in shock—_Castiel had just kissed him!_—when he heard his mom's voice calling him again, a little louder and more firmly this time.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, looking embarrassed and staring at his shoes. "I shouldn't have done that."

Dean quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek, too, and then dashed out from behind the slide. He didn't see Castiel's smile, but he felt it.

* * *

The next day, after much pleading and whining, Dean's mom and dad finally agreed to take him back to the park. Dean ran around the house all day, almost bouncing off his seat during breakfast and lunch in anticipation. His mom had to fight to get him to pick up his toys, a task he was usually barely tolerant of to begin with. He could barely sit still even during his favorite TV show, _Tom & Jerry_. He couldn't wait to see Castiel again.

Finally, at three, his mom called him to the door. "Want to go to the park, Dean?"

"Yes!" He jumped off the couch and ran to the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

She laughed. "Hold on, Dean. We have to wait for Daddy."

"Daddy! Hurry up!" Dean called, bouncing in a circle.

From their bedroom, Dean heard his dad laugh, and a few moments later, he emerged, closing the door behind him. "Okay, son, I'm ready to go."

"Yes! Let's go!"

The walk back to the park was excruciatingly long for poor Dean, who was so excited that every second felt like a week. He charged farther and farther ahead of his parents until he heard his mom call him back, and he reluctantly returned, slowing his pace to match theirs. Finally, though, just as Dean was going out of his mind with anticipation, they arrived.

The park was empty.

"Aw, honey, I'm sure Cas will be here soon," his mom said soothingly once she realized he wasn't there. "Why don't you go play until he gets here?"

Dean shook his head and patiently climbed onto the bench between his parents.

Dean's dad knew how much Dean had looked forward to this all day. "It's okay, Dean. We'll wait here for him."

"Okay."

The minutes turned into an hour, which turned into two. By five-fifteen, Dean had pulled his knees up to his chest and put his head in his arms, trying to will away the tears that threatened to overflow, but he was no match.

_Where is Cas? He said he'd be here._ He chanced a glance up, hoping that Castiel had appeared sometime between when he'd closed his eyes and now, but with no luck. _He promised._

"Honey," Dean's mom said gently, running her fingers through his short, baby-fine hair. "We have to go. It's almost time for dinner. Aren't you hungry? I can make macaroni and cheese tonight, and we can go to Dairy Queen and get you some pie after."

Macaroni and cheese was Dean's favorite dinner, and he _loved_ pie. But all the pie in the world wasn't enough to distract him from the crushing disappointment—Castiel was not here. _He said he'd be here. Why isn't he here?_ He shook his head sadly. "I'm not hungry." He would have gladly never eaten pie or macaroni and cheese again, happily have lived off broccoli and carrots and other bunny food for the rest of his life if he got to see Castiel again.

"Honey—"

"He _promised_, Mommy. He promised me that he'd be here." His voice was trembling and his eyes were red and shining with tears. "Just a little longer, please."

She looked up at Dean's dad, who nodded. "Okay, sweetie. We'll wait another fifteen minutes. But if Cas hasn't come by then, we need to go home."

Dean's lower lip stuck out, but he finally nodded. "Okay."

At five-twenty-nine, Dean had just about given up. He reluctantly slid off the bench and kicked at a rock before sighing, "Okay, I'm ready."

"I'm sorry, Dean," his mom said gently.

The three of them started down the pathway to the main sidewalk when, seemingly from nowhere, a small figure emerged, running toward them. It took Dean only a moment to recognize that dark, messy hair. "Cas!" he yelled, suddenly charging forward to meet him. They met halfway, hugging each other tightly, before Dean said, "I can't believe you're really here."

"I promised, didn't I?"

Dean grinned.

"Hi, Cas!" Dean's dad said. "We're Dean's parents. Are you hungry?"

Castiel appeared to think for a moment, and then he nodded.

"Well, we're about to make dinner. Would you like to have dinner with us? We can call your mom and ask her if it's okay, too. I know Dean's been waiting to see you all day and it's a shame to leave right when you get here."

Castiel nodded again. "I would like that, sir."

"Good. Let's go."

"Yes!" Dean cheered, and then he grabbed Castiel's hand and led them all the way back to his house.

* * *

Twenty-five years passed in the blink of an eye. The very next May, Dean got a little brother named Sam. He started kindergarten the year after. Then first grade, and then elementary school was gone. Middle school passed in a blur, and high school was a whirlwind of school clubs, the cross-country team, dances, and college applications. He was never a great student—unlike Sam, who excelled at everything he tried, but he never resented him for it—but somehow he got accepted to a state college not too far from home. He majored in communications, something he didn't particularly care about, but he had the degree. Once he graduated, he started working with his dad at the auto repair shop he owned, now called Winchester & Son.

And through all of it, Castiel was at Dean's side, through the Lara Fowler incident of third grade to the tragic deaths of Mr. Skeen's pet mice to senior prom to the one college party when Dean got so drunk, he spray-painted the windows of the college president's car. No one besides the two of them knew who actually did it because the camera trained on his car mysteriously stopped working.

So it didn't surprise anyone when, after twenty-five years, Dean and Castiel finally announced their engagement. Dean's parents suspected somewhere around the time he was twenty and still hadn't had a girlfriend what was actually going on, but neither of them cared—they just wanted to see Dean happy, and Castiel clearly made him happy. From the first day they met to the day they finally said "I do," it was always clear to everyone that they belonged together.

* * *

**So, did I manage to hit you right in the feels? (I REALLY hope I did.)**


	2. Scene Two: The Problem with Math

**In which some smuttiness ensues (sorry if it's terrible - I think I've lost my handle on writing decent porn) and everyone goes home happy.**

**Supernatural belongs to Kripke.**

* * *

_Flash!_

"Fuck," Dean muttered, staring at the test in his hands. A big red _D_ was circled on the top with the words _Find a tutor_ beneath it. Great, like he really wanted to spend any extra time on his homework than he had to? A D was still passing, right?

"Ooh, damn," he heard his friend Michael whisper next to him. "Your dad's gonna flip."

Dean scoffed even though he felt an internal wave of panic. "Nah, it's still passing. He won't care too much. Just compare me to Sam for about twenty minutes and lay a guilt-trip on me, and then everything will be back to normal."

"Still," Michael said, "you probably _should_ find a tutor."

"How about you?"

Michael stifled a snort of laughter and held up his own test. "C-plus. I don't have a decent handle on it either."

Dean almost groaned but Mr. Borda strolled back into the classroom at that moment and launched right into his lecture on sine versus cosine versus tangents, and he immediately let his mind wander—which was probably the cause of the D on his latest test. His eyes fell on the student in front of him, a quiet boy named Castiel Novak, a boy with incredibly blue eyes.

Castiel never spoke unless directly called on by a teacher. It was a shame, though, because he had the sweetest voice ever, low and sleepy. Whenever Castiel spoke, Dean's heart skipped a beat. He generally kept his head down, and once in awhile, the fingers of his right hand would wind around the back of his neck and twist through the wispy dark strands just below his ears. Dean would have to fight to keep his hands on his desk, the temptation to reach out and feel if his hair was as soft as it looked was that strong. But however beautiful he looked from behind, it was nothing compared to how he looked from the front with his full, pink, utterly kissable lips and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled—which wasn't often, but enough for Dean to know he liked it. He'd never heard him laugh before, but he wanted to.

But he was definitely not into guys or anything. Castiel just intrigued him, that was all.

"Winchester!"

Dean's head snapped up from where he'd been resting it in his hand, his elbow propped up on his desk. Borda's voice immediately shook him from his reverie.

"Oh, good, you _are_ awake. Stop staring at the back of Novak's head—you might get a little more out of my lecture if you actually paid attention to the words coming out of my mouth."

He hoped he only thought he was turning red—the last thing he wanted was the whole freaking class aware of his fascination with Castiel Novak. God, that was embarrassing.

Apparently, Castiel was embarrassed, too, though. The back of his ears were burning and he shifted in his seat. As he did so, Dean caught a glance over his shoulder at the test he'd gotten back a few minutes before just before Castiel shoved it under his notebook.

There was a huge red _A_.

Dean resolved to ask him to tutor him as soon as class was over.

Class dragged on and on, but mercifully, the bell rang for lunch at the correct time. The classroom was suddenly a flurry of activity as students gathered up their notebooks and backpacks, and Dean pounced.

"Hey, Cas," he said, and then immediately wondered if he was okay with him calling him that.

If he minded, he didn't say so—actually, he didn't say anything. Castiel just straightened up and fixed his piercing blue gaze on him.

"Um, I saw that you got an A on your test and I was just wondering if…" His throat tightened for a moment but he swallowed and went on. "If maybe you could help me study. I didn't do so hot on the test." He smiled at Castiel in what he hoped was a charming sort of way but _really_ hoped wasn't just flat-out creepy.

Suddenly, Castiel nodded. "I can help you. When would you like to begin?"

Slightly floored by his formal style, it took him a moment to realize he'd asked a question right back. "Is tonight good?"

Castiel nodded again. "Would you be able to come by my house at five?"

"Uh, yeah, probably. Where do you live?"

Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a small notebook. He scribbled something for a few moments, tore the top sheet off, and handed it to Dean. On the paper was an address and a phone number. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Without another word, Castiel swung his backpack over his shoulder and exited the classroom.

"Cool, you got a tutor. The guy's weird, but at least he's smart," Michael joked once Castiel was out of earshot. "Come on, I'm hungry."

Dean numbly followed, staring at the page in his hand. Castiel's handwriting was spaced and loopy with a strange sort of flourish at the end of his words. The only word he could really think of to describe it was elegant.

He folded the paper up and shoved it into his pocket.

* * *

At five-ten, Dean's dad pulled up in front of Castiel's house. "I'll be back at eight. If you need me to pick you up earlier than that, just call. And for God's sake, actually study. Don't just eat their pie."

"I don't know that he _has_ pie," Dean half-joked, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. His dad rolled the window down to continue talking.

"I'm serious, Dean. I'll be happy with a C on your next test—just no Ds and no Fs, hear me?"

"Yes, sir." He turned and walked up the sidewalk to the front door, hesitating for a moment before finally pushing the doorbell.

About thirty seconds later, the door opened, but it wasn't Castiel there. The boy—well, actually, he was older than Dean, that much he was sure of—looked vaguely familiar with long, slicked-black golden blond hair and eyes that were almost the same color as his hair. He was also fairly short, at five-seven or five-eight. This must have been Castiel's older brother, but Dean had no idea what his name was. "Um, hey. Cas invited me over."

"Right—Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, that's me."

"Cas is—"

Castiel's voice cut in from somewhere above them, up the stairs just off the foyer. "Hello, Dean."

Castiel's brother shot him a slightly mistrustful look but allowed Dean entrance.

He peered up the stairs for a moment and finally saw Castiel standing at the top of the stairs, his dark hair even wilder than it normally was. Ignoring the way his heart started racing, he skirted past Castiel's brother and hurried up the stairs.

"Sorry about Gabriel. He… he likes to mess with people." Castiel gave him an apologetic look, but Dean just smiled.

"It's okay. My dad can be like that, so it's nothing I'm not used to."

Castiel gave him a faint smile—not big enough to crinkle his eyes at the corners, but enough to cause Dean to question the intelligence of this decision to have him as a tutor—and turned. "My room is this way. If we study down there, it's unlikely he will leave us alone."

Dean followed him to his room and pretended not to notice his heart skip a beat at the sound of the bedroom door closing behind him with a definite click. "So," he said loudly to cover his nerves, "where do we start?"

He took a moment to look around the fairly small room and noticed almost immediately that the walls, ceiling, and carpet were blue—almost exactly the same shade as Castiel's eyes. He wondered if it was deliberate or unintentional. His bed, a twin sized pushed into one corner, was outfitted with blue-and-white sheets and next to it was a small desk with a laptop open and humming happily atop it. Most of the room, however, was dominated by bookshelves and a huge window with a seat built in. Dean could easily see Castiel lounging by the window and reading intently until the sun finally set and he had to turn on a light.

"Did you bring your test?" Castiel asked.

"Um, yeah." Dean set his backpack down and rummaged through it until he found the crumpled sheets and pulled them out. He sheepishly handed them to Castiel (yeah, Castiel knew he did poorly on the test, but it was still a bit embarrassing to hand over such a shitty grade), who took them and furrowed his brow in a way that shouldn't have made Dean stare, but did.

"Perhaps you should invest in a folder," Castiel said. Dean couldn't tell if this was his way of joking. Either way, Castiel reached into his backpack and pulled out his own test, the sheets of which looked pristine, as if they'd just come off the printer. "We should start going over what you did wrong on the last test. That should give me a good baseline for what you're not understanding."

It made sense to Dean, so they settled onto Castiel's floor and started going over the formulas.

Castiel was able to explain the problems in a way that Borda simply couldn't, which was all the more surprising, given that he was only half-listening. The other half of his focus was on simply the shapes Castiel's lips made as he spoke and his heart thrummed loudly in his chest as a word floated through his mind: _Kissable._ He tried not to wonder how they would feel pressed against his—_I'm not gay, damn it!_—but when Castiel quickly licked his lips, Dean completely lost his self-control.

In one swift motion, he reached out and pulled Castiel toward him. He didn't care what the end result would be, if Castiel would freak out or even kiss him back—he just had to taste those lips himself.

For a moment, Castiel was frozen. And then, to Dean's complete surprise, his hands went to the back of Dean's neck, keeping their lips locked together and, in fact, deepening the kiss. Dean shifted from his sitting position to a kneeling one to press himself closer to Castiel and traced his tongue along the part of his lips. Almost immediately, Castiel's mouth opened and Dean swept his tongue in. He could almost taste the low moan rising out of Castiel's throat and he ran his free hand over Castiel's hip.

Yes, Castiel's lips were just as soft as they looked—and so was his hair, Dean discovered, as he stroked his fingers through Castiel's dark, thick locks. Castiel moaned again, a high whine on the end of it, running his fingers over the sides of Dean's neck and also moving to better meet his lips.

Reluctantly, Dean pulled back, and when he did, he saw that Castiel's deep blue eyes were wider than usual. "Sorry," Dean mumbled, blushing. "I've wanted to do that for awhile." He wasn't just admitting it to Castiel, though—he was also admitting it to himself.

"Me, too," Castiel breathed, and as Dean realized what he'd said, as his heart rate picked up again, Castiel's lips were against his again and they were falling back onto the floor and he was straddling Castiel's hips while one of his hands was buried in his hair and the other was working its way under his T-shirt. He skimmed his fingertips over the smooth skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense and relax under his touch, and he was suddenly slammed with an insane desire to feel as much of him as he could.

He dragged his lips down the side of Castiel's neck as his hand slid up his side. Castiel's hands ran through his hair but one was moving down to grip his hip, one finger sliding below the waistband of his jeans to graze his skin, and Dean shivered. From his position above Castiel, he could tell that he was already half-hard and it just turned him on. The hand under Castiel's shirt slid further up, hiking up the shirt as it went, and Dean tweaked his nipple as he gently bit down on his neck. Castiel keened, a high-pitched whimper deep in his throat, and his back arched at the teasing. "Oh, my God," Castiel breathed and Dean moved the hand at the back of Castiel's head to his waist, trailing his fingernails over the strip of flesh just above the top of his jeans.

"Just tell me when to stop," he whispered, and slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his fly.

Castiel moaned softly, his breathing ragged and uneven, but he didn't say stop, so Dean went on, working his fingers into Castiel's jeans and palming his erection through his underwear. Castiel groaned again, louder now.

"Want me to stop?"

"No, don't stop," Castiel gasped, tightening his hold on Dean's hip. It would surely leave a bruise, but Dean was beyond caring. He slid his fingers under Castiel's boxers and wrapped them around his now-hard cock, smirking when Castiel mindlessly thrust into his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the head, teasing the slit, and Castiel whimpered again. "Please, Dean…"

He couldn't hold himself back even if he wanted to. Squeezing him firmly, he started stroking Castiel and his moans as he went increased in volume until Dean wondered how his brother couldn't hear him. He wished they were alone in the house because he wanted to find out just how loud Castiel could cry out, but for the moment, Dean just leaned in and whispered, "Shh. Your brother's still downstairs."

"Don't care," Castiel gasped, his beautiful eyes closed tightly and fingernails digging hard into Dean's skin. "Please, Dean… 'm so close… So fucking close…"

Dean picked up his rhythm, pumping harder and faster with every beat, and it was only another six strokes before Castiel was moaning, his back arching off the floor and body trembling as he came.

As hard as Dean was and as much as he wanted to get off, the sight of Castiel coming apart at his hand was absolutely beautiful. He knew he had plenty of masturbation material for later—all he needed to do was remember this and he'd be a goner.

When Castiel's afterglow finally subsided, he propped himself up on his elbows and dragged Dean down for another kiss. His hands drifted to the fly of Dean's jeans, but he shook his head. "Next time," he breathed. He grinned. "Math time."

Castiel laughed, a loud and joyful sound, a sound that would have broken Dean's heart if it was possible to get a broken heart from happiness. If he had to go back and pinpoint the first moment when he knew he'd do anything for Castiel, knew he'd be with him forever, it would be that moment. Everything fell into place.

* * *

Dean retook Borda's test and got a B-minus on it, much to his surprise and his father's pride. He went back and "studied" with Castiel almost every night for the rest of the year (and sometimes they even cracked their books) and by the end of the school year, he was already screaming "_I love you, Castiel Novak_" in his head. He didn't actually say it until the end of their junior year, and when Castiel responded, it was with the hugest grin Dean had ever seen and a giddy, "I love you, too, Dean."

They didn't go to the same college after their senior year but they were close enough to each other to be able to see each other most weekends. At the end of college, they moved into an apartment together. After that, it was only another year before they became engaged. The happiest day of Dean's life was the day Castiel agreed to marry him—until the day Castiel actually married him.

Sometimes, he looked back on that D in math class and wanted to go back to Borda and thank him for being such a terrible teacher. Without it, Dean may have never spoken to Castiel, and he would have missed out on the best thing that could have happened to him.

* * *

**Anyone want to venture a guess on what's happening? Your feedback will amuse me. XD**


	3. Scene Three: Ice Cream Rendezvous

**I've been listening to a lot of NEEDTOBREATHE while writing this. It's both incredibly sweet and incredibly sad... I love _The Reckoning_!**

**Everything belongs to that beautiful bastard Eric Kripke.**

* * *

_Flash!_

The first day of summer vacation, Dean didn't know what to do with himself. He lay in bed for several hours until the growling in his stomach became unbearable. By the time he actually went downstairs for food, it was after noon, so he went to the kitchen and made a huge sandwich.

"Trying for a heart attack by twenty?" Sam asked from behind him.

"Shut up," Dean said good-naturedly to the twelve-year-old. "Don't you have homework to do?"

Sam stuck his tongue out and went back into the living room.

Dean didn't see how he and Sam were even related—he hated anything to do with schoolwork, but Sam had actually signed up for summer classes at the library, classes that assigned him actual homework, and he actually _enjoyed_ it. He shook his head and started studying the sandwich from all angles, trying to decide how best to attack it.

Once he decided that a head-on approach was the best way to go after it, he smashed it down as far as he could and opened his mouth wide. He just got the bread when all the fillings in the middle spilled out. "Damn it!"

He started picking at the various cheeses and meats and just ate them as they were until he was able to get the sandwich stack down to a decent size. Once he'd reassembled his sandwich, it looked a lot more manageable but by the time he finished it, he wanted some ice cream. He dropped his plate in the sink and opened the freezer door, groaning in frustration when he realized that there was no ice cream in there.

And then he had a great idea—he would go out for ice cream. Gleason's had just opened back up a few weeks ago and they always had the best ice cream. The thing was, even though Sam was twelve years old and more than capable of staying at home by himself for a freaking _hour_, his dad would be pissed if he found out he went to get ice cream and didn't bring him along. He pulled out his wallet to make sure he had enough for both of them, then called into the living room, "Hey, Sammy, wanna get some ice cream?"

What twelve-year-old _didn't_ want ice cream? Sam's head snapped right up from his notebook, a huge grin on his face. "Yeah!" He jumped up and ran straight for the door. "Where are we going?"

"Gleason's. Hope you feel like walking, 'cause Dad took the Impala."

It was only a ten-minute walk, but it was enough for Dean to work up a sweat and wish he hadn't worn his jacket. Even though it was only the first week of June, it was incredibly warm. Sam, of course, had been smarter and was just wearing his T-shirt, so he had no problem with the weather. Still, it would just make the ice cream that much more rewarding.

The bell above the door rang pleasantly as Dean and Sam walked in. The little ice cream shop was nearly empty save someone with dark hair enjoying his ice cream in the corner and the golden-haired cashier behind the counter who was wiping down the cases. Dean went right up to him and the cashier looked up, a huge grin crossing his face. Dean didn't quite know why, but he didn't trust that smile. Still, he pushed his reservations down and said, "Double scoop of Moose Tracks and whatever he wants." He motioned to Sam.

"Double scoop of bubblegum ice cream, please," Sam said, standing on his toes to peer over the counter.

Something about the situation must have struck the cashier as funny because he nodded, snickering, as he said, "Coming right up, boys."

Dean gave him a suspicious look but turned his back to survey the familiar ice cream shop. He and his family had been coming here every summer as long as he could remember, since even before Sammy was born. They were usually among the first people in line the day it opened on May fifteenth and the first in line the day it closed on September first. It was never summer unless they came to Gleason's.

This cashier had never worked here before, but he didn't comment on it. Most likely, he'd see him in school in the fall and he'd ask him about it then—or maybe not—but for now, he just wanted to enjoy this moment.

His eyes fell on the other boy in the shop at the same moment he looked right back at him, and he was actually surprised that none of the light bulbs burst from the electricity that passed between them. Time seemed to freeze with that spark of something strange yet familiar.

He had dark hair and soul-searching blue eyes, and he was incredibly beautiful in an innocent sort of way with his soft-looking, slightly chapped pink lips. He hadn't blinked once since their eyes locked, and Dean was fairly certain neither of them had breathed. He knew _he_ hadn't, at any rate.

Somehow, his dad's words from his birthday floated back to him: "Now that you're sixteen, you're gonna wanna fuck anything and everything that moves." Dean was pretty certain his dad had been joking at the time, but that didn't mean he wasn't right.

"Double scoop of Moose Tracks," the cashier's voice said behind him, jarring him back to Earth. He spun around, fighting the blush that he knew was creeping up his neck, and took his ice cream.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

"Eight dollars." His grin looked even more amused now.

Dean handed over a ten and waited for his change. Sam looked up at him. "Do you know that guy?" he asked softly, glancing over at the strange boy whose gaze had fallen back to his own ice cream. So. Sam had even noticed Dean making a fool of himself.

"Uh, no. Never seen him before."

Sam didn't look convinced but didn't press it. _Damn it_, he was too perceptive for his own good.

Dean wanted to go over to the other boy and start talking or at least find out what his damn name was, but he didn't dare, not with Sam there, too. The last thing he needed was Sam telling their dad that night that Dean was flirting with a guy. If that didn't set John Winchester off, nothing would.

He admitted to himself that he didn't honestly know how his dad would react to that news, but he imagined it probably wouldn't be pleasant. His mother might be more understanding, but John wasn't a really sympathetic kind of guy.

"Two bucks," the cashier said, handing over two dollars. "Want the receipt?"

Dean shook his head and followed Sam to a table not far from the other boy's. Every minute or so, he glanced up and tried to meet his eyes again, but he was staring determinedly down—and then, about five minutes later, he got up and left. Disappointment flooding through him, he watched the boy walk out the door and past the windows and then, inexplicably, he turned his head and looked back at Dean.

And smiled.

* * *

_This is stupid. This is _so fucking stupid_. This is the stupidest thing you've ever done, Winchester._ After sixteen years of fairly stupid things, that was saying a lot.

Dean swallowed hard and glanced at the clock in the living room. One-thirty. The same time they'd gone to Gleason's the day before. "Hey, Sammy? Wanna go get some ice cream?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"Nah, you can go without me," Sam answered, keeping his head bent over a notebook and a textbook. Even so, Dean could still see a small smile on his brother's face. Somehow, Sam knew without being told what was going on and had silently agreed to keep it to himself.

"Thanks."

He made sure to leave his jacket this time and headed out the door. The walk to Gleason's seemed a hundred times longer than it did yesterday, and even though he was just wearing a faded Kansas shirt, he still sweated through it in a few minutes. His heart pounded faster the closer he got to the ice cream shop as he tried to tell himself that the boy probably wouldn't be back that day, that he didn't mean to smile at him, that he didn't actually want to see him again—but just as he was drawing level with the door, it swung open and the boy walked out and looked around.

And then he saw Dean and his face broke into a huge smile.

"Uh, hi," Dean said, his mouth suddenly very dry. He had the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to grab this boy—whose name he didn't even know—and kiss him, but he resisted. "I'm Dean."

The other boy continued to smile, and in a low, sleepy voice that nearly made Dean melt, he said, "Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel."

Dean grinned. "Wanna see a movie, Castiel?"

"I would love to."

* * *

That summer was one of the hottest on record, but that wasn't what Dean remembered it for. He remembered it as the summer he fell in love with Castiel. Even though he knew from the moment he saw him that he couldn't be anything but Castiel's, it wasn't until two months later that Dean finally told him.

He remembered how, two weeks after they met, he finally gave into that overpowering temptation and kissed him. He confessed, after they finally came up for air, that he wanted to do that the moment he saw him.

"I would have let you," Castiel laughed.

Sam said nothing as the weeks went by and Dean disappeared for a few hours every day and came back—sometimes just minutes before their mom or dad came home—with a shit-eating grin on his face, but by the time the end of July rolled around, Dean knew he couldn't keep Castiel a secret from his family forever. He casually asked his mom if he could have a friend over for dinner one night and she agreed. When Castiel came over that night, Dean tried not to smile every time he saw him, but it was painfully obvious to his whole family what was really going on. As the night drew to a close, he dreaded the moment Castiel left because he was growing more and more afraid of what his dad would say, partly surprised he hadn't said anything already.

Dean walked Castiel out the front door and closed it quickly behind them.

"I think it was fine," Castiel murmured softly, reassuringly.

Dean gave him a quick kiss and sighed. "I hope so. If I don't see you tomorrow, my dad probably killed me."

Castiel smiled and palmed Dean's cheek. "You should give your father more credit."

Dean waited until Castiel had disappeared down the street before going back inside to help his mom with the dishes, closing the front door softly, but he needn't have bothered. His dad was waiting right in foyer.

"Seems like a good kid," John said casually. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile that much before."

Dean's heart sped up. "Yeah. He's a really good guy."

John Winchester nodded. "I hope so. If he hurts you, I'll break his face." He smiled at his son.

Somehow, Dean managed to laugh and choke out a sob at the same time.

Castiel and his family had moved to the area at the beginning of summer, so in the fall, he was at the same high school as Dean, also as a junior. They finished up high school together and then Dean went right to work with his dad at his auto shop while Castiel went to college about an hour away. They got to see each other every weekend and sometimes, Dean drove his dad's—now _his_—Impala up to see him and go to a few college parties. He stopped going after a few months because it made him feel like a loser for not actually going to college, but Castiel assured him repeatedly that the measure of a man's character is not in his formal education.

And then he mentioned something about motor oil and grease looking _incredibly hot_ on Dean and Dean started feeling a whole lot better about himself. Of course, that could have been Castiel's hands working him over, too.

The day Castiel graduated college, Dean proposed, and he giddily accepted. Their engagement came as no surprise to anyone in either family (Dean's dad actually said, "About time you made honest men of each other" while Dean internally cringed).

And every summer, at the beginning and at the end of the season, they were always among the first in line for the opening and closing of Gleason's.


	4. Scene Four: The Prom Date Conundrum

**I know it's been awhile since I've updated this, but apparently not many people are reading it anyway, so... yeah. Enjoy!**_  
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* * *

_Flash!_

"…and finally, tickets for senior prom are on sale now. Just a reminder that prom is only a month away, so get your tickets early!"

Dean rolled his eyes as his friend Raphael Burbank snickered next to him. "Senior prom," Raphael said, once he'd gotten his laughter under control. "What a load of bullshit."

"Only people on the decorating committee go to prom," Dean agreed. He could think of a hundred things he'd rather do on the night of prom than put on a rented tuxedo and listen to music that hadn't been cool in ten years with people he barely liked and certainly would enjoy not seeing after graduation.

But more importantly, he was scared shitless to ask the person with whom he actually wanted to go. But the universe seemed to conspire to somehow get him to go to the prom.

For one thing, three girls—Jess Moore, Jo Harvelle, and Meg Masters—had all asked him to the prom. Yes, he'd turned down all three of them, but he didn't tell them why. For another thing, Raphael had found his own date—one of his best friends, just a week ago as aggressively anti-prom as he was, was going to prom with Anna Singer.

"Traitor," he'd growled, but Raphael had shrugged.

"Hey, she's on the decorating committee, and I didn't want to condemn her to taking Gabriel Speight as a prom date."

Dean had to admit that he'd done the generous thing, in that case, considering Speight was obnoxious and sarcastic. In fact, his presence on the decorating committee was a complete mystery to everyone who knew him because he was about as concerned with school spirit as Dean was—which wasn't much.

For a third thing, Dean lost the nerve to ask his potential date every day. Every day, he told himself he was finally going to ask that day, and every day, the moment he saw those big blue eyes, that mess of dark hair, those full lips spread in a slow, sweet smile, he melted. Every day, he turned into a coward.

Surprisingly, the fact that his potential date was a male didn't bother him as much as it probably should have. He knew he wasn't gay or anything—maybe just a little bi-curious. But Castiel Novak could make _any_ guy rethink his sexuality.

Castiel had been his best friend since their freshman year. At first, that was all, just weekends spent at each other's houses and movies and three summers by the side of the Novak family pool. And then halfway through their junior year, somehow everything changed. Somehow, Dean looked and really, finally saw Castiel and that was it, he was lost. He was absolutely beautiful, and there was no way he could ever return Dean's feelings.

So he quietly ignored it, hoping it would dissipate with time, but it never did. It just festered beneath the surface, invading every dream and nearly every conscious thought until sometimes, he couldn't breathe. But ever since this prom thing came up, he suddenly had a new fantasy involving Castiel in a tuxedo waiting for him in his living room just before they went to prom and his stomach hurt from the sheer imagined beauty. Castiel would look amazing in a tuxedo.

Sometimes, he was able to push those thoughts out of his head, but a few days after Raphael's announcement regarding his prom date in Anna Singer, Rachel Wesson just _happened_ to lean over in her seat and ask the blue-eyed boy behind him, "Hey, Cas, will you go to prom with me?"

And Castiel had the absolute, infuriating nerve to say, "Come on, Rach, I told you I would only want a guy to be my date."

And Dean suddenly imagined, _again_, him and Castiel at the prom together and he blushed, praying no one noticed. _Damn it._ But now that mental image was in his head and no matter how much he tried to push it out, it floated back in. It was distracting and obsessive and it made him smile so wide that his face hurt. It was so stupid that he could think of nothing else.

Okay, so maybe he was more than just "a little bi-curious." But _damn_. No one would have been able to blame him if he'd said anything.

And he knew that Castiel and Rachel were friends—not close, but they chatted in class. Sometimes Castiel would try to draw Dean into the conversation but he tried not to get involved. He would just end up feeling jealous of Rachel because it was quite obvious that she had a thing for Castiel, too. But how the _fuck_ did Castiel get so comfortable with Rachel to tell her that he wanted a male prom date when he hadn't said anything to Dean about it? He hunched his shoulders and tried to pretend that the object of his affections wasn't right behind him, deciding to ask Raphael if _he_ knew about this turn of events.

* * *

"Ray," Dean whispered harshly the moment he cornered his other best friend by his locker.

"Um, what's up, Winchester?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Ray called him by his last name whenever he was planning on being a douchebag. "I just heard Castiel tell Rachel Wesson that he wants to go to prom with a guy."

"Okay, _and_? Is that a problem?" he sharply asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, not at all." Assuming Castiel wanted to go to prom with _him_ but that seemed fairly unlikely. "Just… did you know about this?"

"Yeah, he told me the day they made the announcement."

_Ray knew. Rachel knows. But…_ "Oh." He tried not to let disappointment tinge his voice. "He didn't tell me. That's all."

"Oh." Raphael suddenly seemed to understand—partly—what was going on in Dean's head. "Did you guys have a fight or something? I mean, normally you guys talk all the time, don't you?"

"Yeah, I… I don't know. I thought everything was cool, but…" Dean shook his head sadly. "I guess not." _He didn't tell me he wants to go to prom with a guy. There's no way he wants to go with me._

"You should ask him."

Ray's words startled him—was he freaking psychic? "Huh?"

"You should ask him if there's something wrong. You gotta get that shit fixed before graduation, otherwise you may not see each other after he goes off to college."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right." Dean suddenly squared his shoulders. "Alright, I'm gonna go talk to him." He turned and started back down the hallway to the wing where Castiel's locker was.

"Go get him!" Ray called behind him, and Dean crossed his fingers that something wasn't actually wrong between him and Castiel.

Castiel, as it happened, was just slamming his locker door closed when Dean appeared next to him. "Cas, we need to talk."

Even though he was sure Castiel hadn't seen him coming and he definitely hadn't looked at him, his voice was still calm. "Hello, Dean."

"Cas."

"I—" Castiel finally fixed his deep blue gaze on Dean's face. "I can't talk right now. After school, okay?"

"B-but Cas—"

"Dean, please." There was the barest hint of pain behind his voice and a lead weight settled in Dean's chest. Yeah, there was something definitely wrong. The really annoying thing was, he didn't know what it was.

* * *

He was out the classroom door the moment the final bell rang and he went straight for Castiel's locker. Anxiously, he tapped on the cool metal and waited for Castiel to show up. He wasn't waiting too long, though; Castiel glided down the hallway after less than three minutes. The other boy did seem surprised to see Dean there already, but the incredulous expression resolved into something decidedly neutral.

"Hello, Dean."

"Okay, can we talk _now_?" Dean asked.

Castiel spun the combination of his locker before answering, "I suppose so. What did you want to talk about?"

"You told Ray that you want to go to prom with a guy."

"Yes."

"And you told _Rachel Wesson_ that you want to go to prom with a guy."

"Yes."

"But you didn't tell me."

Castiel's fingers froze in the process of lifting a book off the top shelf of his locker. "I know," he said after a moment.

"Why?"

"I didn't know how you would react."

"Cas, I'm _okay_ with it. I mean, I didn't know you liked guys, but I'm fine with it. Really." He was more than fine with it—he was ecstatic. Not that it mattered, because Castiel didn't like _him_. "What I'm just trying to figure out is… I guess, did you want to go with a particular guy or just any guy?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I'm not a slut, Dean. 'Any guy' won't do. No, I…" His voice softened. "I'm hoping for one guy to ask me."

Disappointment flooded through him. "Oh. Well, um… look, if he doesn't ask, I'll, um, I'll go with you. I mean, if you want."

Castiel's eyes went wide with something Dean couldn't read. "But… don't you have a girl you want to go with?"

He shook his head nervously. "Not really. I mean, I heard prom's better if you go with a friend, anyway." He smiled, trying to convince Castiel. Maybe, even if he couldn't go with him as a real date, he could go with him as a friend.

Castiel smiled back. "Okay, Dean. Thank you."

"Just, um, let me know if he asks you, alright?"

He nodded solemnly.

* * *

Three days before the prom, Dean finally brought up the subject again. "Cas, did the guy ever ask you?"

Castiel bit his lip and Dean braced himself for disappointment. "Looks like you're going to be my prom date," he said, surprising Dean. "Are you still okay with that?"

Hardly able to believe his good fortune, he said, "Of course! Um, did you want me to pick you up or did you want to pick me up?"

The other boy half-smiled. "Do you think your dad would let you borrow the Impala? It would be kind of cool to show up in it."

Dean smiled, too. "Yeah, he'd probably let me for prom."

"Does he know you're bringing me?"

"Yeah, he's cool with it." He forced himself to say the next words. "He thinks it's good that I'm going with a friend."

"Good."

"So, uh, prom starts at eight. So I guess I'll come and pick you up at seven-thirty then, okay?"

"I will be ready then."

* * *

He was nervous as he waited for Castiel to descend the stairs, sitting next to his mother on the couch.

"I'm so happy you're taking Castiel to the prom, Dean. He's been so excited ever since you asked him."

_Wait, what?_ "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's been talking about it ever since they set the date. He was telling me that he was really hoping you'd ask him. I think this is the happiest I've seen him in a long time."

"He wanted me to be his date in the first place?"

"Of course!" She suddenly realized the way he'd asked and furrowed her brows. "You didn't know?"

"No, I thought he wanted to go with someone else. So I offered to take him if the guy he really wanted to go with didn't ask him. He didn't tell me that he wanted me to go with him in the first place."

"Wow, that's so sweet, Dean! But didn't you want to go with someone else?"

Dean half-smiled, shaking his head. "No, Mrs. Novak. I didn't want to go with anyone but Cas."

At that moment, Castiel came down the stairs, tugging anxiously on the jacket of his tuxedo. Dean was right—Castiel was _hot_ in that tux. Unconsciously, he stood up, grinning.

"Oh, Castiel, you look so handsome!" his mother gushed. She pulled him into a tight hug and then held him out at arm's length. "And so happy! Okay, you two, let me take some pictures and then I'll let you go."

She arranged them in front of the fireplace and Dean let the arm around Castiel slide down to rest against his hip. He silently promised himself that the moment he and Castiel were alone, he would tell him that he wanted to go with him in the first place. And for the first time, he knew he wasn't imagining the way Castiel was standing much closer to him than necessary, the whole side of his body flush with Dean's.

He didn't have to feign his smile for Mrs. Novak.

Finally, she let them go after giving them both a hug goodbye. "Have fun, boys!" she said cheerfully. Relieved to finally get Castiel out of the house, he opened the door in front of him and closed it behind them.

"Sorry about Mom. She's… she's really excited," Castiel apologized quickly. "I didn't think she would—"

Dean cut him off by, at last, doing what he'd imagined doing for over a year. He pulled him close and kissed him hard.

Their chests pressed together, Dean could feel the way Castiel's heart thumped harder and suddenly started racing. He threaded his fingers through Castiel's thick, silky hair and traced his tongue over his bottom lip. Just as a quiet moan was rising out of his throat, Dean pulled back and smiled. "So."

Castiel gave him a look of innocent confusion that Dean just had to smile at. "I don't understand, Dean."

"Cas, I… I wanted to ask you to the prom weeks ago. Not as my friend—as my date."

"You did?"

"Yeah." He placed another kiss, a quick one this time, against Castiel's lips. "I, um… I've had a crush on you for over a year now."

Castiel's blue eyes locked with Dean's green ones, and the smaller boy's eyes were swimming with happy tears. "You should have said something."

"How long have you liked me?"

"Since we were freshmen. I just always thought you were straight."

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm definitely bisexual." He smiled. "And I definitely like you."

Castiel smiled back and brought Dean's head down for another deep kiss. "Good."

* * *

Dean and Castiel went to prom and had an amazing time, even if that asshole Speight had moved the focus of the spotlight from the disco ball to them. They ignored the scattered shocked looks from their classmates, but Raphael seemed quite happy for them.

They made their relationship official that night and that summer was the best of Dean's life, but too fast. Before they knew it, it was time for Castiel to move out to California and Dean was stuck at their local community college. Dean tried not to worry that Castiel would meet someone else while he was gone, but his boyfriend continually reassured him that he had eyes only for Dean. Fortunately, Dean was able to transfer to UCLA with Castiel after two semesters at his school, and the two of them got an apartment just off campus. Dean didn't make it to half of his classes on time (he affectionately blamed Castiel's tight body for that) but the two of them still managed to graduate.

Castiel proposed to him when they were twenty-five and had moved into a better place out in Sherman Hills. Castiel got a job managing a trendy little clothing store downtown and Dean started running a venue for musicians. It was crazy, how fast their lives together fell into place, but the two of them were together for everything.

Mrs. Novak consistently said that Castiel had never been happier, and it was all because of Dean.

* * *

**So, yeah, I've been running around Los Angeles and the Hollywood Hills for the past few days, so the ending of this was based off of that. I may re-upload this chapter later with a bit of additional content (like some smut) but I was kind of in a rush to post this because I haven't updated any fanfictions in awhile (I just started two others, NO BIG DEAL). So yeah.**


	5. Scene Five: The Boot Camp Quandary

**LONG SCENE IS LONG. I've been writing this particular scene for about a month now. Everything in here is current as of about fifteen months ago, when I was going through boot camp. The names of the RDCs are the names of my old RDCs (well, kind of - Pierce and Alvarez were my brother division's RDCs and Hinson was one of mine). They are also true to their personalities in this story.**_  
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* * *

_Flash!_

It was around four-forty in the morning—_0440_, Dean had to remind himself; they were on military time now—when the last group of males in Division 175 wandered in, led by a very irritated-looking Petty Officer Pierce. Dean quickly feigned sleep but he could still hear Pierce instructing the twenty or so guys, "Find an open rack and claim it. Do it, do it now!"

The rack above Dean's was open and he knew that within the next thirty seconds, he'd have a rackmate. Sure enough, a guy in his Navy-issue sweats ("Smurf suits," the Petty Officers called them, since they were all navy-blue) dropped his half-full sea bag next to Dean's head and climbed up to the top rack. He felt bad for the group coming in now because none of them had probably slept since the night before and they were only going to get about fifteen minutes of sleep—they generally had reveille at 0500. They were told that once boot camp training actually started, reveille would be at 0600, and Dean was looking forward to that extra hour.

Dean couldn't actually see the male who'd claimed the rack above his—because of both the angle and the red lights that flooded the compartment while it was still sleeping hours—but he hoped they'd like each other. If he had a rackmate he hated, the next eight weeks would go by incredibly slowly.

As he suspected, the nights snapped on at 0500 and Pierce's shrill voice echoed through the compartment. "GET UP!" she screeched. "GET THE FUCK UP AND GET ON THE TOE LINE!"

The toe line was a pattern of black tiles around the compartment that were vaguely shaped in a boxy figure-eight. Every morning, they had to put their shoes on and have their toes just on the closer edge of that line, standing at attention, in two minutes. Technically, the RDCs (Recruit Division Commanders, what other branches of the military would refer to as "Drill Sergeants" or "Drill Instructors") couldn't punish them yet, but they could holler up a storm all they wanted. Pierce, in particular, _loved_ to yell.

Dean sprang out of his rack the moment the lights came on while the other guys—especially the ones who'd just arrived—simply groaned and slowly peeled themselves off their racks. Dean was in his shoes, laces tied tight, and on the toe line before most guys even had one shoe tied. In fact, only one other male was on the toe line that he could see in his peripherals, but since he was supposed to be at attention, he didn't dare turn his head to see who it was.

The guy who'd claimed the rack above his quickly mimicked Dean. He'd been smart and had not taken off his shoes, so all he had to do was hit the floor and take his place next to Dean. He glanced down for the briefest of moments and noted that his new rackmate's toes were about a half inch over the line. He gently nudged the other guy's arm and waved his hand back at his side. The other guy must have caught what he was getting at, because a moment later, he was edging back until his toes lined up with Dean's.

Two minutes and seventeen seconds after reveille was called, every male was out of his rack and on the toe line. Looking more pleased than Dean had ever seen her, Pierce prowled around the compartment while Chief Alvarez walked in and surveyed them all.

"Okay, fucknuts," he said calmly. Dean had been startled by Alvarez at first (especially how pretty much every other word out of his mouth was "fuck" or some variant thereof, but for him, "fucknuts" was just his way of saying "guys" or "people"), but he was used to him now, even after only three days. "Today's starting P-1 day of training, so after you get dressed and get chow, you're going to medical to start getting your screenings done. If all goes well, by the end of the week, you'll all be fit for full." By that, he meant "fit for full duty," meaning that the RDCs could IT (intensive training) them as a punishment if they wanted to. Dean wasn't looking forward to that.

"Port side, get dressed and make your racks! Starboard side, five minutes to shave and brush your teeth! GO!" Pierce screamed, and half the division dashed off to the head to shave.

Dean turned to his new rackmate. "We're port—" he started, but then in the space of two seconds, everything froze.

He looked—there was no other word to describe him—angelic. His hair—what was left of it, after the barber had pretty much scalped him—was dark but his eyes were a bright, very vivid blue, and his lips were full and impossibly soft-looking. Dean wondered how long his hair had been before he'd arrived. There were sun lines around his forehead and at the back of his neck and even though he looked fairly pale beneath the fluorescent lights of the compartment, the skin under the sun lines was even lighter. "Port side," Dean finished lamely. _Fuck_, he just _had_ to wish for a rackmate he liked.

The other guy looked nervous as he glanced up at his rack.

"Want me to help you out?"

"Yes, please," the guy—fuck, he must have only been nineteen or twenty at the oldest—said.

"Come here." He motioned for the other guy to step on the ladder-like rails between the two racks as he did the same on the other side. "So the head of my rack is over here—" Dean gestured to his left "—so the head of your rack has to be over here." He waved to his right. "You get two sheets, a pillowcase, and a wool blanket." Without further prompting, he launched into the elaborate explanation of how to make a rack, something the RDCs hadn't instructed them in yet—Dean just knew because his dad had been in the Marines. They quickly made up the other guy's rack, and then Dean dropped to the floor and quickly donned his own sweats. They hadn't been issued actual uniforms yet, but apparently, they were getting them that day or the next.

"Thank you," the other boy said after he adjusted his pillow.

"No problem. I'm Winchester," he added, sticking out his hand. "Dean Winchester."

Shaking his hand, the other boy said, "Hello, Dean Winchester. My name is Castiel Novak."

* * *

Petty Officer Hinson put them in a height line and ordered the first eight males in the height line off to the side. "You all are gonna be flags in the division front. We don't have flags yet, but in a few weeks, we should." He quickly assigned the rest of the division front—port and starboard watch section leaders, division master-at-arms and yeoman, and six section leaders. He picked Dean to be section four leader because he could make the best rack in the division, which wasn't saying much at only the first day of training.

The RPOC (actually RCPO, for Recruit Chief Petty Officer), a guy named Pellegrino, and AROC (Assistant Recruit Chief Petty Officer), a guy named Speight, quickly took their places. Both of them had been in the group that Dean had arrived in, and he remembered them well. Pellegrino had light blue eyes and reddish-blond hair, and he looked mean as fuck. He was clearly used to giving orders and his position in the division leadership ensured that it would continue. Speight was quite different. Before his head was nearly shaved, he'd had long, golden-blond hair, slicked back and skimming his ears. His eyes nearly matched his hair color, which was odd. He was also fairly short and was constantly smirking.

"Ready? Okay, Pellegrino, let's get these guys rolled out. Speight, be loud so all the short-ass fuckers in the front can hear you."

"Aye-aye, Petty Officer!" Speight sounded off with so much enthusiasm, he had to be mocking Hinson. Dean wondered how the Hell he got away with his snark—he sure as shit wouldn't have been able to do that.

Pellegrino glanced at Hinson for a moment. "Division, attention! Division front, fall out! AROC, take charge!"

"Aye-aye, RPOC!"

As Dean followed the section three leader out of the compartment, he heard Speight say, "Division, count off!" and then the faint sound of one after another after another counting from one to six and back over again from one.

The division formed up on the grinder (the term for the area just outside of their barracks, called a ship, where the divisions got into ranks) with the two shortest males on the farthest ends out and the other six lining up behind them, six across. The rest of the division filled in behind them, the numbers one through six telling them who they were supposed to be behind. Pellegrino dressed them off and then yelled, "Columns of three! Port watch section, forward!"

The guy in charge of port watch, Milligan, called back, "Port watch section, forward!"

Burbank, who was in charge of starboard watch, responded, "Starboard watch section, stand fast!"

Pellegrino yelled, "Forward, march!"

From the back, Dean could hear Speight start calling cadence as loudly as he possibly could—which, as it turned out, was pretty freaking loud. Even though they were a total bunch of losers at this whole marching in formation thing, Speight kept a good cadence and they all managed to stay fairly well in step.

The thing about marching was that it required little to no actual brainpower. He was free to let his mind wander as they went, and he couldn't help but feel hyperaware that Castiel—_Novak_, he corrected himself—was only two people behind him—when Pellegrino had dressed them off, he had to look to his left (after a left-face command) and saw that only one guy was between him and Novak. His heart raced at the thought and he tried to convince himself that it was just the marching. He didn't quite believe it, though.

* * *

At medical, they were reorganized alphabetically. Winchester ended up right behind Wilson and right in front of Wixley. He could still see the back of Novak's head from where he was sitting, though, and he suddenly wished they were close enough to talk. Unfortunately, talking was frowned upon at Recruit Training Command, and so he buried his face in his Trainee Guide and pretended to study.

He wasn't gay, he told himself. At the same time, he wasn't exactly straight, either. He wasn't quite sure who he liked in general, but Novak specifically did something crazy to him, something distracting. He'd dug into his head, got in deep, and it was all Dean could do to hang on.

He was so distracted that be barely noticed his line had stood up and started moving until Wixley toed at his back with his boot. Dean scrambled to his feet and hoped none of the RDCs had noticed. Fortunately, it seemed they were too busy screaming at their yeoman to notice him.

But then he heard Pierce yell, "Okay, Jackson, you're fired!" She grabbed a random guy walking out of the medical area and said, "You're our new divisional yeoman. What's your name?"

"Novak."

* * *

When the division front reorganized themselves after medical, the two flags in front (PFC for Personal Flag Carrier and Guidon) got in front of rows one and six respectively. Then the other six flags lined up behind them. In row one behind them was a guy named Roché, who was apparently British if his accent was to be believed, as the division's master-at-arms, with a space for no one to march behind two, and row three led by Milligan, the port watch section leader. When Dean took his place behind the new yeoman, he suddenly realized it was Castiel Novak. He had heard Pierce and Novak's exchange, but it hadn't clicked that he was suddenly going to be marching behind Novak.

He hoped he'd be a better yeoman than Jackson.

As it turned out, he was. Once their "P-days" (short for Processing Days) were over and they launched into their actual training, Novak proved himself to be a quite capable yeoman. He organized everyone's records and kept them all in order, and even though his voice was generally soft and low—making Dean melt like butter—when he took muster, it boomed throughout the compartment in a way that demanded respect. Speight, in particular, was amused by this.

The bad part about Novak's becoming the division yeoman was that he had to change racks, which didn't happen until they moved from their holding compartment until their actual training compartment two miles away. When divisions first reported to Recruit Training Command, they were first assigned to a division and for the first few days, they had a holding compartment on a "ship" (actually a barracks, but they had to refer to all the buildings as ships) called the USS Pearl Harbor. When they finally moved to their new actual compartment, Division 175 (along with their brother division, 176) ended up moving to a ship called the USS John F. Kennedy. That was when Novak switched racks—he was now above Pellegrino's rack, because the RPOC and yeoman had to have the same rack stack.

Dean never thought he'd miss someone he'd only known for a few days, especially when he hadn't really left, but Jackson was a bit of a dirt bag (or, as Hinson liked to put it, "a hot bag of ass"). He was hardly ever on the toe line in time in the morning and he couldn't make his rack to save his life. The RDCs would take turns with ITing ("beating" was the word the RDCs usually used) both Jackson and Dean. Since Dean was his rackmate, Jackson was basically his responsibility, which he hated because he only had this responsibility because he was a section leader and knew his shit already.

But he took it without complaining. He knew if he bitched, the beating would just get worse and it was hard enough as it was to do hundreds of pushups until he was drenched in sweat. In fact, these morning beatings were the first time he'd actually sweated enough so that it dripped off his nose and onto the floor.

"Wanna stop, Winchester?" Pierce yelled one morning as Dean struggled to stay in a perfect "down" position—nose almost to the floor, elbows breaking ninety degrees, back perfectly straight.

"No, Petty Officer!" he answered as loudly as he could through gritted teeth.

"All you gotta do is say, 'Petty Officer, switch Jackson's rack!' Then we can move him and he'll be someone else's problem. Come on, Winchester, just say it!"

As much physical pain he was in, he could only imagine how hurt Jackson would be if he said that—plus, the beatings wouldn't stop, someone else would just have to deal with it. Dean refused to play along. "No, Petty Officer!"

There was a moment of nothing, and Dean was afraid his arms were going to give out. But then Pierce said, "Recover, Winchester," and Dean practically bounced to his feet and popped right to attention.

That incident, however slight it actually was, earned him the immediate respect of the whole division. That evening, several guys came up to him and hold him how honorable his actions had been. The Navy was big on the whole "honor, courage, commitment" thing (they were the Navy Core Values, after all) and he couldn't help feeling proud of himself. Even Novak was impressed. He managed to catch Dean's eye in the mirror as they brushed their teeth before tapping out (as the RDCs referred to hitting their racks; it was a play on the word passed over the 1MC, "Taps") and smiled. Dean's throat went dry but he smiled back as Novak spat out his toothpaste.

"That was very brave of you," he murmured. "I don't think anyone else would have done for Jackson what you did."

"It was nothing," Dean said, trying not to look too pleased that Novak approved.

Novak just smiled a bit wider, put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and then walked out of the head.

It had only been a second or two at the most that his hand had lingered there, but suddenly it felt like his whole body was on fire. Novak was doing that thing again, where he got under his skin and he couldn't function for another day or two. Sometimes it was a smile Dean managed to catch while they were at chow, sometimes it was an accidental, subtle touch when they passed each other. After three weeks, he still wasn't used to what Novak did to him and sometimes he wished he could just throw him up against a wall and crush the boy's mouth with his. But recruit-to-recruit contact was grounds for immediate discharge or, if you were lucky, getting sent to another division that wasn't as far along in training. If his dad found out he got set back for making a move on Novak, he would be furious.

Besides, he wasn't sure he could handle that kind of rejection if Novak didn't feel the same way about him.

* * *

On the Sunday during week five, while the entire division was lounging around the compartment and shining their boots or writing letters, Dean saw a pair of shower shoes swing into his line of sight as he hunched over his own boots. He looked up into Castiel's big blue eyes and couldn't help smiling. "Hey, Novak."

"Hello, Winchester." Novak apparently took this as an invitation to sit down because he did so, setting his boots and dress shoes down and digging his shoe-shining kit out of one of the boots. "Enjoying your Sunday?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess. I would really rather be home right now. Sundays are the worst."

Novak nodded sympathetically. "Did your family do anything special on Sundays?"

"Yeah." Dean smiled again as he remembered. "My mom makes pancakes every Sunday morning. My little brother Sam and I always got to crack the eggs for the batter. Mom always calls us her 'Royal Egg Crackers.' My dad makes bacon and sausage and ham and it always takes us an hour and a half to finish eating. Then Sam and I do the dishes, which sucks, but Mom and Dad make breakfast, so it's fair. And then we end up falling asleep until noon. After that, we watch TV until my grandparents come over for dinner and all eight of us have a huge dinner. My mom especially is really close to her parents."

"So this is the first time you've been away from home?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen. What about you?"

"Eighteen. I didn't expect all these guys to be in their mid-twenties when I signed up for this."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, me neither. So…" he added with a sudden seriousness. "Did your family do anything special on Sunday?"

"Not really, just church in the morning. My dad was always really religious, but after my mother died, he kind of threw himself into it. That's why he named me Castiel—it's the name of some angel. I don't have any siblings, though. I wish I did. It was kind of lonely growing up without them."

Dean felt a stab of sympathy and—_no, it's just sympathy, nothing else_—rip through him. He couldn't imagine his childhood without his brother. Sam was fifteen right now but he still hadn't been able to keep himself from crying when Dean was dropped off at the airport. "Where are you from?"

"Detroit." Novak rolled his eyes. "We were so close to Chicago that we took a van, not a plane."

"Damn, that sucks."

"Yes. When we came through the gate, the guard said, 'Welcome to Hell.' For awhile, I was convinced he was right. But it's not so bad." He smiled at Dean. "All you really have to do is keep your mouth shut and your head down and you'll be fine."

Dean had a sudden mental image of himself pinning Novak to the floor and sucking a dark purple bruise onto the pale skin of his neck. He pushed the thought out of his head just as quickly as it entered. "Yeah, you're right. It's not so bad." He smiled back.

* * *

What happened that night was probably inevitable. He was very nearly asleep when he heard someone climbing out of their rack and going into the head. He opened his eyes the barest amount and saw that it was Novak shuffling sleepily along. Overcome by something he couldn't—or wouldn't—name, he peeked to make sure that the watch was still in front of the door of the compartment and climbed out of his own rack. He stuffed his feet into his go-fasters (the running shoes they were issued the very first day of boot camp) and ducked into the head behind Novak.

"Winchester?" Novak's voice sounded even sleepier than usual, and his voice was a whisper. The head was tiled floor to ceiling and noise bounced in there like crazy. There was no way to talk above a whisper without arousing suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

Dean later reflected that it was a stupid question, but at the time, he figured the younger boy had a point. "I, um… n-nothing." _This is so stupid._

"Wait." Novak took two steps closer to lower his voice further. He appeared to be blushing. He and Dean were only about six inches apart. "You came in here for something, right?"

"Yeah," he confessed. "I, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

"Just talk?"

_I am so fucked._ With one backward glance to see if the watch was there—he wasn't—he closed the distance between them and finally pressed his lips to Novak's. The shorter boy let out a faint gasp before wrapping both arms around his shoulders, leaning his whole body against Dean's. Dean gently ran his fingertips over the other boy's nearly-bare scalp, enjoying far too much the feeling of his buzzed-short hair against his skin. He ran his tongue across Novak's lips and felt a surge of heat roll through him when the dark-haired boy moaned softly.

And then Novak suddenly pulled back. "We can't," he breathed, eyes wide and face flushing even more than before.

"Yeah," Dean murmured, noting that Novak's arms were still around him. He swallowed. "You're a CT, right?"

Castiel nodded. "CTT, six year."

"Look, I'm a CTM. We're both going to Pensacola. So…" He bit his lip. "I like you. But this isn't worth getting set back."

"So in a couple of weeks, when we graduate, we… what?"

Dean licked his lips. "We see if… maybe… if this is something we still want. You're single, right?"

Novak nodded.

"Yeah, me too. So… so how about it?"

He nodded again, a small smile creeping over his face. "Yeah. And I like you, too."

Dean grinned until he heard the approaching footsteps of the watch. Novak's arms slid from around him and the smaller boy pushed past him and back out into the compartment. Dean ducked into one of the cubicles and closed the curtain just as the watch arrived, looking around. He made a big production of flushing the toilet and washing his hands before heading back to his rack, glancing over at Castiel's.

The younger boy caught his eye and grinned before turning over.

* * *

The next three weeks seemed to drag by. Dean and Castiel kept glancing at each other and Dean hoped it wasn't obvious from the look on his face what was going on. If it was, no one said anything, and they were too careful to be alone together after that Sunday night in the head. Neither of them trusted themselves around the other, and wisely so.

But graduation day came and liberty was called. Dean ran to meet his parents and brother, all of whom embraced him tightly. His dad nearly cried, but the smile on his face said it all: he was incredibly proud of Dean. His mom actually did cry. Sam was too excited to do anything but bounce around.

After the few hours he got to spend with his family, he went back to his compartment and finished packing for the flight to Pensacola, which would take off around noon the next day. Castiel would be on his flight, and he hoped they'd be able to sit together.

They weren't, but once they arrived in Florida, they were both assigned to the Charlie Barracks and they requested an assignment to the same room, which they got. CTs generally ended up in the same rooms, anyway. They were together until Dean graduated from his first course and transferred to the other Pensacola base for his actual school. Castiel was stuck on NAS longer and by the time he got to Corry Station, the second base Dean had gone to, Dean had already graduated and gone to his first command. They were both upset for awhile, until about a year later, when Castiel got orders to San Diego, the same base that Dean was now on. They were on different ships, but it didn't matter—they were back in the same time zone.

Castiel got out of the Navy after his six years were over, but Dean stayed in for twenty-four years. Once Castiel got his honorable discharge, Dean proposed. They'd been living together for quite some time and he suspected that his parents knew it was inevitable, but they were supportive anyway. They got married two years later on the anniversary of their graduation from boot camp, and every day was happier than the last.

* * *

**I don't condone personal relationships in boot camp - that shit is serious. Just don't do it. And the watch is usually more attentive than that. But anyway... As I said, everything I mention here is accurate. So ask me if you have any questions about this scene.**


	6. Scene Six: The Delta House Disaster

**If you understand the reference to the name of the frat house, I will give you 50 internet points.**_  
_

* * *

_Flash!_

"There better be girls at this party." Raphael's half-accusing tone was muffled as he dug through the closet. He finally reemerged with a button-down shirt in his hand and stripped off his T-shirt, replacing it with the shirt in his hand.

"Mm," Dean said distractedly. He wasn't really looking forward to this frat party, but it was the first one he ever had the chance to attend. He didn't want to let his college years to end without going to a frat party. As it was, he'd already gone three years. Now it was his twenty-first birthday and Michael had insisted on throwing him a party. "Well, knowing Mikey, there will be _lots_ of girls."

That was true—Michael had a thing for getting people together. He had charisma and girls loved hanging out with him. It was no wonder he was the fraternity president.

Dean and Ray left their dorm room about ten minutes later and headed to the Delta Tau Chi party. As it was, they were already about fifteen minutes late, but Ray insisted that they couldn't show up on time. "No one will be there until ten anyway," he'd said. Dean hadn't really cared, though—he was only going for the experience. That and it was the first time he could legally drink. That would be fun.

* * *

They could hear the bass of the music turned all the way up before they even opened the door. The moment they did, though, Michael somehow appeared. "Hey, guys! Dean! Happy birthday!" He raised his red Solo cup in a mock toast. Judging by the grin already on his face, he was pretty tipsy. "We've got the bar open and waiting for you!" He threw one arm around each of them and guided them inside. "And we got other people besides our fraternity brothers here, too!"

"Sorority girls?" Ray asked hopefully as the trio made their way over to where a beer pong table had been set up as a makeshift bar. A guy Dean didn't recognize was slinging drinks. He grinned mischievously and asked, "What can I get you?" He filled another Solo cup up with ice and set it on the table.

"Um…" Dean eyed the unfamiliar blonde for a moment. "Jack and Coke." He took a glance around the party as the other guy cracked open a Coke before looking back at him.

"This is Gabe," Michael said happily, slurring only slightly. "He's my cousin. I told him about the party and he just _had_ to come. My brother's here, too." Michael turned his attention to his cousin. "Hey, Gabe, you seen Cas?"

Gabe finished pouring what looked like a double shot of Jack Daniels into the cup and handed it to Dean, still grinning. "Yeah, he's over by the snacks. I'm not sure that dragging him to an 'Animal House' party was the right idea. He's too innocent for something like this."

All together, the four of them turned toward the snack table where a dark-haired young man was standing with his back to them. A pretty girl with red hair and a sweet smile was standing next to him. Anna, Dean was fairly sure her name was. Anna or Amy. She was apparently talking to Michael's brother Cas. Suddenly she giggled over something he said.

"Hey, Cas!" Michael called. The boy turned to face them, and Dean suddenly felt the air _whoosh_ out of his lungs.

Even across the room, he could see how blue Cas's eyes were. He was absolutely beautiful—the most gorgeous boy Dean had ever seen in his life. He couldn't believe how similar Michael and Cas looked while also looking so different. They had the same eyes and the same dark hair and the same innocent, cherubic complexion. But Cas's face was rounder, younger-looking, and those lips… He swallowed. He wasn't sure he'd blinked or even breathed since the moment Cas had turned around.

"Cas, come here!" Michael called, waving him over. The other boy looked over at Anna and the two of them headed toward their group. Dean felt his heart sinking, although he didn't know why. Of course this girl would be all over Cas—he was perfect. But even more than that, he shouldn't have even acknowledged to himself how exquisite-looking Cas was. Not that he would admit it to anyone else, though. He kept his latent bisexuality to himself—he was fairly certain his fraternity brothers would shun him if they suspected he wanted to fuck any of them. He wondered how being attracted to Michael's brother would go over. Probably not well, to be honest.

"Dean, Raphael, this is my brother Castiel. He's visiting for the party. Cas, this is Ray and Dean. Dean's the birthday boy. He's finally twenty-one!" Michael threw his arm around Dean's shoulder again and gave him a good-natured shake.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said softly. He wondered how he was even able to speak with those beautiful blue eyes on him. He held out his hand and prayed he was just imagining the shake to his hand. _Calm down_, he told himself.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel answered. He shook Dean's hand and was it just his imagination, or was Castiel still staring at him? He hoped so. It would at least be an ego boost to know he had this angel's attention, however briefly.

"Hey, nice to meet you, Cas," Ray said. He held out his hand and Castiel shook it. Castiel's eyes flicked to Ray for a split second before they were back on Dean.

"This is Anna," Castiel said, gesturing to the redhead next to him.

"We met by the snack table," she laughed. "But I already know you, Dean." Right—she was in his math class. He knew he knew her from somewhere. He just didn't remember from where. More like he didn't recognize her without the whitewashed walls of a classroom behind her. "Raphael, right?" she added with a smile at Ray.

"Just Ray. Ray is fine," he said with a nearly identical grin.

* * *

Dean had three Jack and Cokes in that first hour. It was another two drinks before he finally worked up the nerve to go talk to Castiel. By that time, he'd been watching Castiel from across the room and wondering what to say. The party was in full swing and he had people coming up to him and congratulating him on his birthday. Someone had cranked the music up so you had to shout to be heard. But he finally managed to wander over to Castiel and yelled, "So, you enjoying the party?"

"Of course! Michael always throws the best parties! He always has!" Castiel shouted back. He grinned at Dean. "But the question is, are _you_ enjoying it?"

"Yeah! Think he's gonna do something like this when _you_ turn twenty-one?"

"That was five months ago! I know I look younger, but I'm not!"

"W-was it fun? Lot of people there?"

"Yes! It was at home, though!"

"Where's home?"

"San Diego! I'm going to San Diego State, but I figured I could visit for the weekend!"

He couldn't keep himself from asking. "So… you have a girlfriend?"

"No! Not really my thing!"

Hope fluttered in Dean's chest. "So, boyfriend, then?"

"Would that bother you?"

"No, not at all! My younger brother is bisexual, so…" That was true. Sam had just come out a year ago and, far from being upset, Dean had congratulated him on his bravery. But despite his parents' acceptance of Sammy, he still hadn't told them that he was the same way. Dean, as the firstborn, had kind of been impressed upon his father to be a tough guy, whereas Sammy had never gotten that treatment. He wondered if his dad would be as accepting of his little warrior liking boys as well as girls. "But then, you do have a boyfriend?" He fought back a wave of disappointment.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to marry him!"

It felt like a punch to the gut. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course there was someone else who'd professed his undying love and devotion to Castiel. Of course he'd met him too late. It hurt like Hell that the first person he'd felt any real attraction to in at least three years was that much in love with someone else. But the smile on Castiel's face when he said it… He looked so blissful. How could he not want anything but that for him? "Congratulations," he managed to say. "I hope you guys are happy, then!" He hoped his expression didn't betray his true pain. "How long have you been dating?" Jesus, he was a masochistic fuck. He should just leave—this was torture.

A look Dean couldn't quite read crossed Castiel's face before he smiled. "I'm lying, Dean! I don't actually have a boyfriend!"

Utter confusion mixed with relief washed over him. "What are you talking about?"

Castiel's smile widened and it was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. "I just had to know how you'd react! Most guys say something to try to make me reconsider! Like I'm an idiot or something! Or they ask if he's around and if I'd be willing to forget about him for one night! So I just pretend my friend Lu is my boyfriend and have him come over and look all tough! That's him over there!" Castiel pointed over his shoulder at a tall strawberry blonde who was chatting with another boy with blue eyes and blond hair. "Most guys back off after he shows up!"

"So it's just some test?" Dean didn't care. Castiel was actually single. Hope coursed through him. He had to resist the impulse to hug the smaller but older boy tightly. _He was single!_

"Sort of! I can get a pretty good feel for the guys' characters that way!" He flashed Dean a warm smile. "No one's ever congratulated me before, though! That's a first! A good first, too!"

Dean grinned back. He suddenly imagined pressing his lips to those soft-looking, perfect pink lips of Castiel's. "So I passed the test then?" he asked hopefully.

Castiel's smile grew more mischievous. "I would say so! You seem like a good man! I like that!" As he spoke, he slid one hand up Dean's arm. He was _definitely_ flirting with him now and Dean felt every coherent thought rush out of his head—as well as all the blood. God, but Castiel's smile was powerful. It made him want to shove the smaller boy against the nearest wall and just explore him, skin to skin and mouth to mouth. He wanted to hear all the sounds that lovely throat could produce.

He must have been rendered temporarily insane by that thought. "Well, since you like me so much, and since it's my birthday, can I get a birthday kiss from you?"

Castiel grinned and bit his lip. "Really? You really want a kiss from me?"

_Why the Hell wouldn't I?_ Dean nodded. "Yeah! Sorry if that's creepy or something!" He hoped it wasn't, but still…

"Well, okay," Castiel said with a shy smile. He set his drink down on the table next to him, reached up, and pulled Dean toward him.

Their lips met and at first, that was all it was—a gentle brushing of lips with Castiel's hands cupping his face. And then Castiel's lips closed over his lower lip and sucked it into his mouth. He felt his heart pick up speed and he ran his tongue over the outline of the older boy's lips. Castiel moaned softly and Dean just wanted to pin him against the nearest wall and slide one of his legs between Castiel's. He wondered, dizzily, if Castiel was getting as hard as he was from this simple kiss.

And then all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, cops started streaming into the frat house like a swarm of mosquitoes. All the partygoers immediately started running. A few began to scream, either from genuine fright or a sudden burst of adrenaline. Dean grabbed Castiel's arm and started dragging him toward the back door, through the crush of people trying to get away.

Dean looked back just in time to see a very drunk Michael punch a cop in the face. The officer was knocked flat on his ass in surprise, but a moment later, Michael was wrestled to the ground while he laughed hysterically. His cousin, Gabe, also appeared to be cornered by a group of cops. Dean glanced around to make sure Ray was nowhere near the cops and then looked back toward Gabe, but the short blonde had vanished. _Sneaky bastard_, he thought. "This way!" he yelled at Castiel once they'd cleared the doorway.

Fortunately, Castiel was able to keep up with him as he made a mad dash toward his '67 Impala. He extracted his keys from his pocket and unlocked the passenger's side door before sliding across the hood to the other side. If it had been anyone else and under any different circumstances, Dean would have punched them in the face for doing that. Something like that ruined the finish—especially with the studded belt he was wearing—and he took excellent care of his car. But in this case, it was a lot faster than running around the hood. The moment he was in the car, he threw on his seatbelt and took off, hoping Ray wouldn't be too upset that he'd left him behind.

"Dean," Castiel said firmly.

Dean looked over. "What?"

"I should drive. You're pretty drunk, you know."

Dean held his keys up in his hand for a moment and realized he saw two silver _D_s instead of one hanging off his key ring. Castiel was right. "Okay. Fine. But if you scratch my baby, I'm not responsible for my actions." He handed over his keys and unbuckled. Castiel hadn't even buckled up. The smaller boy slid across him, his ass skimming over his lap as Dean scooted to the passenger's side, and Dean bit his lip. Jesus, he wanted to do filthy things to Castiel.

Castiel started up the car and pulled away from the curb. A moment later, he was doubled over with laughter. "Mikey got arrested!" he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, God, Dad is gonna _flip_! That is just too funny!" He brushed his tears away from his eyes, still giggling.

"It looked like your cousin was about to get arrested, but he disappeared. I swear I only looked away for a second."

"Yeah, he's a weird one. He's always chomping on candy. He literally does not stop eating unless he's sleeping or talking."

Dean snorted with laughter as his phone rang. He was going to ignore it, but it was Ray. He put it on speaker and set it on his leg. "Hey, Ray! What's going on?"

"I hope you're not waiting for me, man! The moment those cops showed up, me and Anna were out of there. I'm in her car right now and we're out on the interstate. You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Why are you on the interstate?"

"She's got an apartment out in town. Campus is probably gonna be pretty hot for the next twelve house so I figure, go back to her place, blow off some steam…"

Dean laughed. He knew exactly what he meant by "blow off some steam." "Alright, no big deal. Did you see what happened with Mikey?"

"No—what happened?"

"He punched a cop in the face. I'm pretty sure he got arrested. It was _awesome_."

"People are gonna be talking about this party for years! Fucking _legendary_! Oh, hey, what happened to Mikey's brother?"

"He got out. He's right next to me. No offense, but I was like, 'Can't find Ray. Getting the fuck out while the getting is good.'"

Ray laughed now. "I don't blame you, man. Alright, I'll see you tomorrow. I'm laying low until Monday for sure, though."

"No problem. See you tomorrow." He hung up and tossed his phone into the cup holder. Letting out a shaky laugh and coming down from his adrenaline high, he asked, "So, where to?"

"I'm actually a bit hungry. I figured we could get some In-N-Out Burger. They're open this late, right?"

He was caught between answering Castiel's question and making an obscene joke about the burger chain's name. "I think so." Fuck, the adrenaline was wearing off and he was feeling even more drunk than he had before. He was bound to do something stupid before the night was over.

* * *

As it turned out, his stupid action was agreeing to have a midnight picnic with Castiel at a little park not too far from the restaurant. Even that wasn't really even that stupid because they ended up making out against the hood of the Impala. Dean had found his ass on the hood twice in an hour and wasn't even upset—he finally had Castiel pressed up against him, running his fingers through his hair. And then Castiel pulled back slightly, leaning his forehead against Dean's and panting breathlessly.

"You okay?" he asked softly, gently coming his fingers through Castiel's hair.

Castiel nodded, meeting Dean's green eyes with his blue. "I was just thinking… It may be time to move this to the backseat."

Dean's throat tightened but he felt himself grinning. "I'd be agreeable to that. If I'm not mistaken, there's just enough room for both of us back there."

He was right, of course. They were just able to fit across the backseat, tearing off each other's clothes and leaving them strewn on the floor. Dean pressed kisses to the side of Castiel's smooth neck and reveled in the high keening the smaller boy made when he had two fingers deep inside him. With the addition of another saliva-slickened finger, Castiel was begging for more, pleading for Dean to stop teasing him. Dean could only acquiesce, and when he first pushed himself in, he couldn't contain his low moan. Castiel clung to him and Dean kept thinking about how absolutely perfect he felt, like they belonged together.

And when Castiel dug his nails into Dean's shoulders and came, crying out his name, Dean knew he was lost. It had only been hours since he'd met Castiel Novak, the younger brother of his fraternity president, but he knew he couldn't possibly forget him. He was already completely and irrevocably Castiel's.

Once they'd both caught their breath, Dean began trailing lazy kisses from Castiel's collarbone to his temple. The smaller boy had his eyes closed, but he was smiling blissfully. It was the same smile he'd worn when he told Dean he was going to marry his fake boyfriend. But this time, he'd put that smile there.

"When do you have to go back home?" Dean asked softly.

"I have to be back on Sunday night."

"Oh." He felt his heart sinking. "Think you'll be coming back soon?"

Castiel opened his eyes. "I'll probably have to. Mikey would be upset if I didn't." He smiled a bit. "Is it safe to assume that you would be, as well?"

"I would like to see you again," Dean said softly.

"And so you shall."

* * *

Castiel returned two weeks later to see both his brother and Dean. Michael had spent the night in jail before his father posted bail. Castiel was right—his father was furious. However, in the two weeks that had passed, the Novak patriarch apparently heard a lot about Dean from Castiel and was anxious to meet him. After that slightly traumatic encounter, Dean and Castiel began to date officially.

Dean wanted to spend the summer with his boyfriend, so he knew he had to finally tell his own parents the truth about his sexual identity. To his utter shock, his parents reacted to his confession in exactly the same way they'd reacted to Sammy's. They were completely accepting and wanted to meet Castiel, too. So Castiel came to visit for a few days, and Dean returned with him to San Diego. They both finished out their final year of college at their own respective schools, and when Dean graduated, he moved out to San Diego and got an apartment with Castiel, who also helped him find a job at an auto repair garage.

No one was too surprised when they announced their engagement two years later. More people were surprised when Ray and Anna, the redhead from the party, ended up getting engaged not too long afterward. But they ended up being good for each other, and Dean was happy for them, just as he was happy that Castiel was finally really his, just as he'd been Castiel's from the first night they'd known each other.

Years later, people were still talking about the Delta Tau Chi party as "the night Mikey Novak earned the nickname 'Cop-Smasher,'" but Dean and Castiel happily referred to it as "the night we met."

* * *

**Don't drink and drive. I had to be someone's DD last weekend. It's cool!**

**Also, speaking of drinking, I wrote this over the course of three non-consecutive days. On the second day (yesterday), I got really fucking drunk and started writing. Ironically, my spelling and grammar improves with increased alcohol intake. Bet you can't tell what I wrote when I was drunk! BAHAHAHAHAHA!**

**AO3 invite? Anyone? PLEASE? Help a Sailor out!**


	7. Scene Seven: Neighborly Intent

**GUISE. Guise I accidentally a long update. *rolls eyes* It wasn't supposed to be 4,000+ words, but hey, look. I guess I use writing as my therapy now. So yeah.  
**_  
_**Also, I guess I lied when I said "Blue Archangel" would be my last update before I deploy. This will probably be it, though. It depends on how tomorrow goes.**

**As always this is for Mems, who gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition. _Supernatural_ belongs to Eric Kripke.**

* * *

_Flash!_

Dean wandered down the hallway of his new apartment building, hunting for number 516. He shifted the box in his arms higher and nearly tripped over a bump in the carpet. "Fuck," he muttered, catching himself just in time. He looked around to make sure none of his new neighbors had seen him. In doing so, he located apartment number 516. He sighed in relief, shook out his keys, and unlocked the door.

Even though he'd never been inside the unit before, he'd seen an identical model a few days before. He already knew his way around pretty well, so he knew immediately where the light switch was. He flipped it on and set the box—filled with a small set of dishes and other kitchenware he probably wasn't going to use—on the counter. He took a look around. Everything was exactly the way it looked in the model downstairs.

There was the oven and the fridge—no microwave, though. If he wanted one of those, he had to get it himself. There was the sink next to the fridge. In the living room (or what passed as the living room), there was nothing except two bookshelves—he would use those to store his DVD collection—and a battered-looking coffee table that the previous occupant had probably left behind. Well, he didn't have one of those, so he'd keep it. He actually kind of liked it. It was perfectly round and had a strange sort of star-like pattern on it. He couldn't help feeling like he should have known what it meant, but it must have been something he'd seen years ago, in another life.

He gave himself a mental shake and headed back out. His brother Sam was still waiting for him by the Impala and U-Haul.

Seven hours later, they'd managed to wrestle his bed and what other small amount of furniture he owned up to the fifth floor. By the time they got everything set up, it was six and Dean decided to make good on his offer of pizza and beer. Even though Sam was still nineteen, he knew their dad wouldn't mind too terribly if he had one, maybe two drinks. After all, it wasn't like they were driving anywhere that night.

"Too bad you don't have cable," Sammy said, yawning and setting his feet up on the coffee table. He tore a slice of pizza free from his half—he had the veggie lover's side and Dean had the meat lover's. Dean had flat-out refused to buy him a freaking salad from Pizza Hut, so Sam settled for a veggie pizza. Dean, on the other hand, was more than content with his heart attack on a crust.

"Yeah, I know. Cable guy's coming tomorrow, though." For now, Dean had to content himself with watching the static channel on his television. "You can come back over and hang out if Dad gets too overbearing, you know," he added around a mouthful of pizza.

Sam half-grinned. "Yeah, I know. I may take you up on that, but right now, he's fine."

"Sofa's always free for you."

"Thanks." They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes until Sam started toeing at the coffee table. "Hey, where did this come from, anyway? It doesn't look like anything you brought."

"Yeah, I guess the last person who lived here just left it. It was here when I got here. It's not too awful-looking, though." Dean paused, wondering if he should ask the question on the tip of his tongue. _What the hell_, he decided. "That design on it—does it look familiar to you?"

Sam cocked his head to the side, setting his feet on the floor to get a better look. "No. Should it?"

"I don't know. I can't help feeling like I've seen it before. I just wondered if you'd ever seen it."

Sammy shook his head. "Nope. No idea. That's weird, though." He grinned. "Maybe it's haunted. Dude, if you got a haunted apartment, we could totally go Ghostbusters on this thing's ass."

Dean snorted with laughter. "Hauntings? That shit is made-up. Ghosts and demons don't exist. Next you're gonna tell me you believe in angels."

Sam started laughing, too.

* * *

When Dean woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of knocking at his door. He grunted and rolled out of bed, tugging on a shirt and shuffling past his younger brother's finally-stirring form on the couch. He heard Sammy sit up behind him and he opened the door.

On the other side was a short guy with slicked-back golden hair and matching golden eyes. He had a mischievous grin on his face and for a second, Dean wondered who the Hell this guy was. Then he took in the company name on his shirt—_Dick's Cable_—and the nametag reading _Gabe_ on the other side. "Winchester?" Gabe asked.

"Y-yeah, that's me. I thought you weren't coming by until noon." He looked around but couldn't locate a clock.

"It's actually twelve-thirty. Long night?" he added, his grin widening as he took in Dean, wearing a faded Metallica shirt and sweatpants, and Sam, who was still shirtless under the blanket on the couch.

"Sort of. I'm Dean, and that's my brother Sam. He was helping me move in yesterday." He didn't know why he felt the compulsion to explain his brother's presence. Something about Gabe set him on-edge. Even though he had a solid five inches on this guy, he just got the feeling that Gabe was a lot more powerful than he let on.

"So are you ready for me, or should I come back later?"

"Uh, no, it's fine." Dean stepped aside and let Gabe in, suddenly feeling very awkward.

Sam rolled off the couch and pulled his shirt back on. He stretched, drawing Gabe's attention for a moment, and Dean wanted to shove Sam out the door to get him away from here. He didn't like the way Gabe was looking at his little brother, even if it was just for a second. Sam probably didn't even realize he was watching.

Fortunately, Sam wandered into the bathroom right then, and the he heard the shower starting up. Feeling that it was now safe to leave Gabe unsupervised, he went to his bedroom and got dressed.

Dean had no idea how Gabe got done so fast, but by the time Sam was out of the shower—admittedly, he did like to take twenty-minute showers whenever possible—Gabe was standing back up and announcing, "You're all set there, bucko."

Dean let the name slide. "What's the damage?"

"Don't worry—it'll be on the first bill." He grinned at both the Winchesters and popped a Jolly Rancher into his mouth. "See you boys around."

"Yeah, I hope not," Dean muttered as the door slammed behind Gabe.

"He seemed nice," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. His brother had _terrible_ taste in men. "Ready to go?" he asked instead of commenting. After all, he did still have to drive Sammy back home.

Sam located and pocketed his phone. "Okay, _now_ I'm ready."

"Great." Dean grabbed his keys and they headed back down to the Impala.

* * *

After an hour round trip, he finally pulled back into his parking space and headed up to the building. One of the other tenants was at the door and he hurried to catch up—he didn't feel like having to stop to unlock the door himself if he could help it. "Hold it!" he called, scrambling toward the person about ten feet in front of him. The other man turned to see who was behind him, and Dean almost tripped over his own feet.

_Oh, my God._ Every conscious thought in his head screeched to a halt except for that mantra of _oh, my God_. This guy was stunning. He had messy dark hair, full and soft-looking lips, and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen in his life. He was so incredibly _attractive_ that it took Dean a minute to realize that he was giving Dean a questioning look. "Um, sorry, what?"

"I said, are you new?"

That voice. It was low and rough, sweet and sleepy. He nearly melted at the sound. He could just imagine it murmuring dark, obscene things in his ear as they moved together in bed, could practically hear the moaning. He tried to distract himself from that thought. "Yeah. I just moved in yesterday. Apartment 516. I'm Dean Winchester."

The dark-haired man smiled. "Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel Novak. Apartment 517."

_Oh, Jesus. I have to _live_ next to this guy?!_ The universe had apparently decided that screwing with Dean Winchester was its new favorite hobby. "Hi, Castiel." He hoped his face wasn't red. He had to be next-door neighbors with the most beautiful man on the freaking planet—how was he supposed to do that?

"We should probably go inside," Castiel said, still smiling. God, that smile was absolutely gorgeous.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He tried to return the smile as Castiel held the door open for him. His arm accidentally brushed against Castiel's and he felt a bolt of electricity run through him. It was insane, this immediate attraction he had to this guy. He tried to think of something witty and interesting to say to him, but only managed, "So how long have you been here?"

"About a year now. It's a really nice building." He hit the up button for the elevator and smiled again. "I'm sure you're going to like it here."

_Is he flirting with me?_ "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're right."

The silence that fell was awkward. _Think of something interesting, damn it!_ He never had this problem when he flirted with women—it was only around men that he got tongue-tied. He wondered if Castiel felt this tension. And then he wondered if Castiel even liked guys. God, if this was all one-sided, he would probably smack himself.

The elevator _ding_ed and the doors slid open. He followed Castiel inside and they both automatically reached for the 5. Their fingers brushed and he felt that surge of heat, that feeling that he'd been shocked, pass between them again. "Sorry," he muttered, involuntarily jerking his hand back. He definitely felt his cheeks heating up now.

"It's alright," Castiel said, his voice lower than before. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He bit his lip and glanced at the panel of buttons. Neither of them had managed to actually hit the button for their floor. "Um, do you want to get that, or should I?"

"What?" Castiel asked, blinking in confusion.

Suddenly, Dean felt relieved. Apparently, his presence was as distracting to Castiel as Castiel's was to him. "The button."

Castiel looked at the panel, too. "Oh." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I've got it." He pushed the button and the elevator began its ascent. "So where did you move from?"

"Lawrence. My parents and brother still live there, but I just needed a place of my own. Plus it's a lot closer to work."

"Where do you work?"

"Tony's Auto Repair. My dad used to work there, so he got me a job about a year ago. What about you?"

"I work at a veterinarian's office. I'm not a vet or anything—I'm basically just a dog nurse," he added with a smile.

Dean laughed at his description. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's not so bad. I like animals. Plus, when I got the job, I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to be a vet or not, so it's helping me decide."

The doors slid smoothly open and they headed down the hallway toward their respective apartments. Dean scrambled to think of something else to say, something to keep Castiel's attention, _anything_, as they drew nearer to their doors. Castiel was just sliding his key into his lock when Dean blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You wanna see a movie with me sometime?" Almost immediately, he regretted it. _Smooth, Winchester._ He typically knew better than to just ask someone out. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ a date with Castiel, because he definitely did. He just usually flirted until the other person did the asking. He wasn't the kind who did the outright chasing.

Castiel froze and for a second, Dean was sure he was going to turn him down. _Oh, God, he has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or he doesn't actually like me and I completely misread the situation. Or he's taken a vow of celibacy. Or he doesn't watch movies. Or he hates crowds._

"I would love to," Castiel said, smiling.

Dean almost collapsed with relief. "Oh. Great. When are you free next?"

"I'm free tonight, actually. Is tonight alright for you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's great. Then I guess I can stop by in a few hours."

Castiel's smile widened. "Just knock whenever you're ready." With that Cheshire Cat-like smile still hanging in the air, Castiel ducked into his apartment and closed the door behind him.

His heart feeling lighter than he thought possible, he darted into his own apartment and headed right for the shower.

* * *

He wanted to go right back over to Castiel's apartment the moment he was out of the shower, but he forced himself to wait. He turned on his TV and channel surfed for two hours before deciding he was hungry, so they might as well get dinner before their movie. He actually didn't know how he'd spent all day without eating.

He looked himself over three times. He tried to reassure himself that jeans and an unbuttoned dress shirt over his T-shirt was appropriate first-date attire. He was trying to go for casual, and since it was just a movie—and dinner; he hoped Castiel liked In-N-Out Burger, but if not, they could go somewhere else—he didn't want to "dress up." He wasn't a suit-and-tie kind of guy, anyway. Finally, he knocked on Castiel's door and waited anxiously, trying not to bounce on his toes.

The door opened and there was Castiel, dressed exactly the same as he was before (that is, in jeans and a T-shirt), smiling at him. "Hello, Dean. Am I to assume that you're ready to go?"

"Yeah, if you are. I figured we could go now and get some dinner. I mean, if you're hungry."

"I could eat. Let me just get my jacket."

Five minutes later, they were heading toward the Impala, Dean nervously twirling his keys around his finger. "Any preferences on where you want to eat?"

"I'm alright with fast food. I'm not too picky."

"In-N-Out Burger then?"

"Sounds delicious."

Dean grinned and slid into the driver's seat as Castiel got in next to him.

Fortunately, both of them had relaxed considerably in the intervening two hours. Over their burgers, they started trading stories about growing up. Dean marveled that he felt so immediately comfortable around him but took it as a good sign. Then Castiel made the comment that most guys he took out inevitably made. "I thought you were straight when we first started talking. I mean, until you asked me out."

Dean shook his head. "I get that a lot, but I'm not straight. I'm not gay, either," he added, stuffing a fry into his mouth. "I guess I'm bisexual, but I get a lot of condescending looks whenever I tell people that, so I just started letting people think whatever they want."

"That's good. That you don't care what people think of you," Castiel added. "As long as you're happy, no one else's opinion should bother you."

Dean nodded. "I completely agree."

They ended up seeing _The Avengers_ which, for some reason, was still running in theatres after over three months. They'd both already seen it but they agreed it was an amazing movie and that seeing it again was well worth it. They headed straight for the back row even though there was hardly anyone else in the theatre. By now, everyone who wanted to see it had already done so.

As the movie wore on, Dean became hyperaware of Castiel's presence, especially the arm right next to his. He could quite easily reach across the mere inches separating them and grab his hand. He could lean over and press their lips together. He could do all kinds of filthy things to him in the nearly-empty theatre. He finally just settled for lacing his fingers through Castiel's. He took a peek sideways and, to his pleasure, saw that Castiel was smiling.

The dark-haired man began running his thumb over the back of his hand. Even this was enough to send Dean's heart racing. _Kiss him! Kiss him!_ He glanced at Castiel again, and he was still looking at the screen, but he kept licking and biting at his lips. That pretty much settled it—he obviously wanted Dean to kiss him. Only too happy to oblige, he turned Castiel's face toward him with his free hand. For a moment, Castiel's blue eyes locked with Dean's green, and then he closed the distance between them and gave him a gentle but firm kiss.

Almost immediately, Castiel's free hand was running through his hair and they released each other's hands and Castiel's arms wound around the back of his neck. Dean held his face, keeping their mouths firmly locked together as he traced the seam of Castiel's lips with his tongue. With a faint moan, Castiel's lips parted and their tongues met. _Jesus_, Dean was trying to keep this light, trying to hold his own passion at bay, but the kiss was deepening. He wanted to be out of this theatre and at one of their apartments right now. The feeling of belonging, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment, was almost overwhelming.

And then Castiel pulled back the barest amount, just enough so he could whisper, "We don't have to stay for the whole movie if you don't want to."

"Want to leave now?"

Castiel put his lips to Dean's ear and breathed, "Unless you were planning to fuck me right here, it might be a good idea to leave."

Dean couldn't help but grin. Apparently, Castiel wasn't as innocent as he looked. He liked that. "Then yeah, let's go."

After the longest twenty-minute drive of his life, he and Castiel were practically tumbling onto the thankfully-empty elevator. He reached behind Castiel and hit the button for the fifth floor before pinning him in the corner, his lips and teeth against the smaller man's neck. Castiel moaned loudly, rutting his hips against Dean's and fisting his shirt. The friction of denim on denim made Dean groan but it was nowhere near enough. He was so hard already and Castiel moaning and panting in his ear wasn't helping his self control. He managed to get his leg between Castiel's and the dark-haired man seized him by the hair and rocked against him again. "Dean," he whimpered, nipping at his ear.

The elevator could not possibly go any slower than it was now. What the fuck was taking it so long? If they didn't get off this elevator soon, he might have to use the emergency stop and fuck him right there.

But then the elevator bumped to a stop and the doors slid open. "Thank God," Dean muttered, releasing Castiel and pulling him off. He noted that there was already a bruise forming on his neck from where he'd been biting. It was sharp against his pale skin. "Your place or mine?"

Castiel didn't answer. Instead, he pulled his keys out and unlocked his door. They nearly dashed inside, and the moment the door closed behind them, he was pressing Castiel against the wall again, sliding his jacket from his shoulders. They let it drop to the floor and Castiel grabbed the hem of Dean's shirt, somehow sliding both the dress shirt and the T-shirt off at the same time. Dean tugged off Castiel's T-shirt and finally captured his mouth again.

Castiel's apartment was the mirror image of his own, so he knew exactly where his bedroom was—adjacent to the wall of his own bedroom, as it happened. He was sure that knowledge would be abused later. As they went, they fumbled with each other's jeans, Castiel somehow managing to undo Dean's belt and push down his jeans before Dean could get Castiel's unbuttoned and unzipped. He slid out of his jeans and nudged Castiel back onto his bed, moving over him and pulling off his jeans as well. Castiel moaned softly as Dean scraped his teeth down his neck and to his collarbone, sucking another bruise into the soft, clear flesh. He trailed one hand up and down his side, hooking the fingers of his other hand in the waistband of his boxers.

Castiel sat up against him suddenly, diggings his nails into Dean's back and biting at the soft spot right below his ear. Dean groaned loudly, pulling off the other man's boxers as quickly as he could. That spot was incredibly sensitive for him. Not many people could find it, but it drove him absolutely crazy. He had to get them both naked _right now_.

Castiel seemed to pick up on that thought and started dragging down Dean's boxers, too. "Please, Dean," he almost whined, sending such a strong bolt of desire through him that it was a wonder he didn't try to take him just like that.

"Need lube," he gasped, sliding their cocks together. Already he was feeling so warm—he needed this.

Castiel twisted to reach into his nightstand and Dean took a moment to run his fingers over his back. Christ, this man was so beautiful. Everything he did was fluid, graceful. And then he was facing Dean again, pressing a bottle of lubricant into his hand.

By the time Dean had three fingers pressed inside him, words were failing Castiel. He just kept moaning louder and louder, meeting the thrusts of Dean's fingers. He reached up and dragged him down to kiss him hard, moaning against his lips, "Please, Dean! I need you… Need you _now_…"

"Oh, my God," Dean breathed. He slipped his fingers out of Castiel, who groaned at the sudden loss. Frantically, he squeezed more lubricant into his palm and slicked his cock. "Ready?"

"Fuck me, Dean!" Castiel begged. "Fuck me hard!"

Dean bit his lip and pushed himself into Castiel. His whole body jolted at the invasion and the younger man cried out. "Oh, Dean, _yes_!" He dug his nails into Dean's shoulders and rocked his hips against his first thrust. "Yes!"

Dean moaned. Castiel's near-pornographic tone was almost too much. He thrust into Castiel again, trying not to moan again at both the sounds Castiel was making and the way he felt. He was just so fucking hot—completely amazing. Again and again, he pushed into Castiel, trying to hang onto his last shred of self-control, but it was quickly slipping away from him. Castiel suddenly keened loudly, wrapping his legs tightly around Dean's waist, and he completely lost it. He started fucking him harder, faster, feeling his orgasm rushing toward him and trying desperately to get Castiel off before he finished. He didn't know how much longer he could last with Castiel moaning like that.

"Yes, Dean, _yes_!" Castiel kept whining, his head thrown back to expose the long, elegant line of his throat. Dean leaned down to scrape his teeth down his throat, sucking and biting, and suddenly Castiel was fisting his hair, his whole body clenching down on him, and he was almost screaming, "_Dean! Dean, yes!_" He was coming hard, clinging to Dean, and gasping out his name.

It was all Dean could take. He tightened his own grip on Castiel's body and gave one last thrust into him. A moment later, he was riding out his own orgasm, moaning Castiel's name, and holding him tightly.

As the afterglow subsided, they slowly relaxed their hold on each other and Dean slid out of him. Castiel moaned softly but ran his nails gently across his back. Dean felt himself smiling and he buried his face in Castiel's neck. "Do you mind if I stay here tonight?" he asked softly.

"Not at all." Castiel kissed the top of his head. "I would like that very much, actually. Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, at ten."

"Alright. Then I'll make us some breakfast in the morning."

Dean grinned and raised his head. "You're assuming I'm going to let you out of this bed."

Castiel grinned back. "Actually, I'm assuming that by the time I get through sexing you, your hunger will be stronger than your sex drive."

"It's always such a close call between the two," Dean joked.

* * *

Three years later, the two of them were still together. It was the happiest Dean had ever been, and even after Castiel moved out of the apartment to be closer to work, they were still at one or the other's apartment every night. Finally, they moved in together. To Dean's surprise, his dad barely batted an eye at the news that his son had moved in with another man. At first, Dean wasn't sure his dad was aware of the true nature of their relationship, but after John and Mary Winchester told him to "invite that boyfriend of yours" to their Thanksgiving dinner, it was pretty obvious that they did know. Sam didn't seem to care, either, although Dean hadn't expected him to. Sam was bisexual as well.

At that Christmas that year, three years after they started dating, Dean asked Castiel to marry him. Castiel giddily accepted and called his parents to tell them. Even though his own parents had accepted that he had a boyfriend that he was living with, he wasn't quite sure what they'd make of him marrying said boyfriend. But when he called them later and told them, they expressed nothing but joy for him. It was then that Dean realized that, with Castiel by his side, his life might not be perfect, but it would be filled with love.

He couldn't wait to move into a house with Castiel and fill that home with love, too.

* * *

**I seriously don't think I could have made that any fluffier if I tried.**

**So the design on the coffee table (for those of you wondering) is a Devil's Trap. "Dick's Cable" is a spoof on Cox Cable. They actually have legitimate commercials with people from Brand X Cable Company throwing their heads back and yelling, "COX!" It's too funny.**

***racks brain* I can't think of any other comments I wanted to make on this chapter. Well, actually, I can, but they would give away the ending. I kind of feel like Elle Woods in _Legally Blonde_: "I have a point, I swear!"**


	8. Scene Eight: The Elevator Introduction

**This was a fuck-load more than I planned to write. Also, I've recently become completely obsessed with Mark Pellegrino. Not that this really applies to anything in here...  
**_  
_**For Mems, who gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition.**

* * *

_Flash!_

Dean let out a nervous sigh and straightened his tie in the mirrored surface of the elevator walls, then shot an anxious look at the security camera in the corner. The lift creaked threateningly as it ascended and he glanced nervously at the glowing numbers above the door. Five… six… seven. _Finally._ The elevator bounced a bit as it stopped and after a solid five seconds, the doors finally opened.

The office was a flurry of activity and Dean waded through it, right to the back where there was another door. The frosted glass pane was labeled _G. Speight, Managing Editor_. This guy was Dean's new boss. He sighed again, took a quick look around, and knocked.

"Yeah?" a voice called from inside.

"Mr. Speight? It's Dean Winchester. I'm starting today. They told me to come talk to you," he added after a moment of silence behind the door.

"Then get your ass in here!" He didn't sound upset or anything, just loud. Dean opened the door and went inside.

"Shut the door and sit down," Speight said from behind his desk. He didn't bother looking up until Dean sat in the chair across from his desk.

"Right. Good morning, Mr. Speight. I—"

"Gabriel."

"What?" Dean had no idea what Speight was talking about.

"Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel. Or Gabe. I don't really care. Only upper management—" here, he pointed to the ceiling, indicating the people in charge "—addresses me formally."

"Right. Um, it's good to meet you, sir—uh, Gabriel."

Gabriel took a swig of Pepsi from the can on his desk. "Good to meet you, too. Dean Winchester, you said?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Well, Dean, want a coffee? Pepsi? Water?"

"Um. No, thanks. I'm good." Something about this guy was so strange. Maybe it was something about his eyes. They were a color Dean had never seen before, a unique kind of greenish brown that was almost golden. He didn't know whether to trust Gabriel or not.

"Alright, suit yourself." Gabriel finished off the can of Pepsi on his desk, tossed it into the trash, and pulled out another one from seemingly nowhere.

_Does this guy mainline caffeine?_

"Just a few things before I send you out there again. First, that elevator has been known to stop between floors. If I were you, I'd take the stairs. Everything's going on that elevator—the camera doesn't even work in it. Second, watch out for Zachariah. You don't know him now, but you'll know him when you see him. Trust me. Stay out of his way, or he'll rip your guts out without even touching you. Third, we have a pretty relaxed break policy—use your best judgment, get your work done, and you should be fine. Last, there are a few free desks open, so just pick whatever one you want. And if you need to talk to me about anything, I'm always here. Any questions?"

Dean shook his head.

"Alright, then have at it. See you later."

He half-waved to his new boss and ducked out of the office as dark-haired blur rushed past him and straight in. Before Dean had a chance to see who it was, the door slammed closed. "Hm." He looked around and saw that Gabriel was right—there were three or four desks open. Feeling a bit awkward, he began weaving through the aisles and finally picked one next to the window. He looked around again.

The person who had the desk across from him was in, it looked like, but they weren't there. There was a blonde to his left, scribbling something in a notepad. He was a lefty, Dean noted with a small amount of interest. Across from him was another man with strawberry-blond hair who was shooting murderous glances to a man over the first blonde's shoulder. He didn't seem to notice, though. Next to the third man was a red-haired woman. Right now everyone looked fairly friendly—except maybe that pissed-off-looking strawberry blonde—so he felt himself relaxing after a few moments and turned on his computer.

_Enter username and password._

"Crap," Dean muttered. He gave his colleagues another glance. They all looked busy but he didn't know what he was actually supposed to be doing. He was on the verge of asking one of the blondes next to him when that dark-haired blur he'd seen a few minutes earlier came out of Gabriel's office. Dean turned to watch and suddenly, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion.

This man walking toward him was beautiful. Dean couldn't stop staring; he was transfixed. His eyes were the deep blue of the ocean, even behind those wire-framed glasses. His mouth was full and soft-looking and a little chapped but it only made Dean's mind race to biting at those lips. It looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days, but the stubble only enhanced his distracted appearance. His suit—well, jacket and matching trousers, because he wasn't wearing a tie and his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top—was a light gray, setting off his eyes even more. He walked with a purpose, closer and closer to Dean, his head down as his eyes scanned the pages in front of him. And then he stopped at the desk right across from Dean, set his stack of papers down, and looked right up at him.

Everything happened so fast that Dean had to struggle to keep up. This distractingly handsome man dropped into the seat across from him and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He peered at Dean for a moment until Dean finally summoned his voice. "Uh, hi. I'm Dean." He half-grinned. "I'm new here."

"Hello, Dean," the other man said in a voice so low and sweet and sleepy that it raised goose bumps on Dean's arms and nearly made him melt. He had a perfect bedroom voice and bedroom eyes and bedroom lips and—_Whoa, calm down._ He hadn't even been here ten minutes and already he was fantasizing about co-workers. "My name is Castiel."

Dean swallowed hard. "Nice to meet you. So, Castiel. Say I have no idea what my username and password is. Where do I go for that?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. Dean was pretty sure he hadn't blinked once since sitting down. "Your username should be the first six letters of your last name and your first and middle initials. Your password right now should be capital P-a-s-s-w-d-1-2-#-$. It'll prompt you to change it, though."

"Thanks." Dean typed in _winchedj_ and the password Castiel had just given him, and a dialogue box popped up saying, "Username or password is incorrect. Please make sure caps lock is not on and try again." Rolling his eyes, he hit the caps lock button a few times and tried again. The same box came up and he sighed. "Alright, so that didn't work. Is admin around here somewhere?"

Castiel looked back up at him. After a moment, he nodded. "I'll show you where it is."

Dean grinned. "Hey, thanks."

"You're welcome." They both stood up and Castiel glanced around at his co-workers. "Let me just introduce you to a few people first."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Castiel first stopped in front of the blondes at the desks next to theirs. "This is Lu Pellegrino—" he indicated the strawberry-blonde who didn't look to be all that pissed off anymore "—and that's Balthazar Roché. Lu, Balthazar, this is Dean… sorry, I didn't catch your last name."

"Winchester."

"Dean Winchester. I'm Castiel Novak."

"Nice to meet you," Balthazar Roché said with a definitely British accent.

"Welcome to Hell," Lu joked, shaking Dean's hand. At least, Dean was pretty sure it was a joke.

"Over there are Anna Burbank and Michael Milligan. Rachel Wesson and Jo Harvelle are around here somewhere. And if you see a short Scottish man named Crowley, stay out of his way unless he talks to you."

"And what about this Zachariah guy?"

Castiel, Balthazar, and Lu all looked uncomfortable suddenly. "Yeah. Zachariah Cassidy. Gray hair, looks angry most of the time, usually wearing a gray suit. Stay out of his way at all costs." Castiel took a quick look around as if to make sure Zachariah wasn't nearby. "Alright. Let's go down to admin."

Dean followed Castiel to the elevator. The dark-haired man was an inch or two shorter than Dean's six-foot-one and it put him at just the right height for everything—leaning him back against the wall, brushing his lips against Castiel's, fisting all that dark beautiful hair…

The elevator _ding_ed and Castiel stepped inside, seemingly oblivious to Dean's distraction. Dean followed him, swallowing hard and trying not to stare at him too much. Castiel's long, elegant finger reached out and pressed the button for the eleventh floor, and the doors slid shut. A moment later, their ascent started.

All was quiet except for the sound of one beep as they passed the eighth floor, another as they passed the ninth. And then, suddenly, the elevator bumped to a halt and Castiel peered anxiously at the doors. "That's not good," he muttered.

"What?"

"Crap." Castiel sank to a cross-legged sitting position on the floor and looked up at Dean through those glasses. "We're stuck."

"Stuck? Like… _stuck_, stuck?"

"Yes." He pulled out his phone and sighed. "And I have no signal in here."

"Oh." Dean dug out his phone and waved it teasingly. "I always get a signal." He turned on the screen and frowned. _Battery at 10%. Plug in your charger._ "Well, damn. My phone's dead." He put his phone back in his pocket and sank to the floor across from Castiel, his back against the wall. "So. Now what?"

Castiel clicked his tongue thoughtfully and peered at the ceiling. "Well, based on last time, it took them about an hour to realize the elevator was caught between floors. And then it ended up being about two _more_ hours until they actually got it unstuck. So really, the only thing we can do is wait."

"Hm." Dean sighed. "Well, it's been a great first day. Stuck in the damn elevator. Hopefully we get out in time to go home, huh?"

Castiel half-smiled. "I'm sure we will. It probably won't take them nearly as long to figure out it's stuck this time."

"So, last time, someone was on the elevator, too, right?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

"Me." Castiel chuckled and drummed his fingers against the floor. "You'd think I'd learn. I always have the worst luck with elevators. I mean, I've gotten stuck in them six times now, and this is only the second time here. Last time, I was alone, though, so it felt like a lot longer than three hours."

Dean loosened his tie and crossed his legs. "Well, since we could be here for awhile, we could… I don't know, talk or something." He really hoped he wasn't being too obvious. Castiel could have been straight, for all he knew. He just wanted to get to know the man whose face he was probably going to have to stare at for a good long while.

Castiel cracked a small smile. "Well, I'm glad you had company in here. If I'd just sent you up by yourself, I would have felt horrible to discover the elevator had broken down."

Dean's eyes widened a bit. "Um… what's the likelihood of the cable snapping and us plummeting to our deaths?"

"Not very high. There are all kinds of fail-safes built into these things. That's assuming, of course, they're working."

"Not very reassuring."

Castiel smiled a little wider now. "I once got stuck on an elevator on the fiftieth floor of a building. I survived. I think we'll be okay."

Dean laughed nervously. "So, six times? Maybe you should start taking the damn stairs."

Castiel shrugged. "I don't feel like going up and down six flights of stairs several times a day. What about you? Have you ever gotten stuck on an elevator before?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope, first time. Hopefully the last, too." He sighed. "Six times? Really? I mean, most people go their whole lives without this happening to them _once_."

Castiel smiled. "I know. The mathematical odds are astronomical." He shrugged again. "I suppose I'm just very special. If you think about it, considering all the times elevator faults have occurred around me, I should be dead. But I'm not."

"So what you're saying is, you've defied death more than a normal person?"

"Pretty much."

"It would be easier to just not get stuck on a damn elevator."

Castiel laughed, uncrossing his legs and leaning back against his wall. "Maybe, but I walk on the wild side."

Dean laughed, too, feeling himself relax a bit. "So, assuming we get out of here in time for lunch, where do you usually eat?"

Castiel tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his face. "This burger joint right down the street called Perdition's Grille. Good burgers. Good pie, too," he added. His smile widened a bit. "Why?"

Okay, so he'd been trying to ask Castiel to lunch in a roundabout sort of way. He still had yet to gauge if Castiel even liked men, but Dean was fairly certain he did. He wasn't positive, though. He cleared his throat. "Just, uh, looking for a place to eat lunch, that's all." God, a freaking lunch date? Who the Hell was he?

"Right," Castiel said with a disbelieving smile. He moved to sit cross-legged again, leaning closer to Dean. Unconsciously, Dean drew his legs up to his chest and leaned forward as well. "And here I was, thinking you were about to ask me out. Silly me."

Dean swallowed but smiled. "Why would I do that? I don't even know if you like guys. That would just be stupid of me. And then, of course, I'd have to assume that you'd want to go to lunch with me at all. I think that's more unlikely than anything."

"Well, for the sake of argument, let's assume that I _do_ like guys. You and I basically know nothing about each other. Since we sit across from each other, it would behoove us to get to know each other a little better. And, since we both need to eat, sharing a meal would be a logical setting for such an exchange to occur."

Dean grinned. "Are you asking me out?"

Castiel grinned back. "That's ridiculous. Why would I do that? Sure, you know that I like men, but I have no idea if you do. And of course, I'd be assuming that you'd say yes, which, given your…" Castiel gestured vaguely to Dean, "physical appearance, seems doubtful. Surely someone like you is already spoken for. No, I think I'll play it safe this time."

Dean threw his head back and laughed. "Castiel. Are you saying I'm too hot to be single?"

"That's the simplest way of putting it, yes."

"I would have to say the same about you, too."

"But, once again, despite the astronomical odds, I _am_ single."

Dean grinned and ran his hand through his hair. "Okay, Cas. Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Dean chuckled and absently nudged Castiel's leg with his foot. Castiel reached down and began running his thumb over Dean's ankle. It was the first time they'd actually touched and a delicious warmth spread through Dean's whole body. He swallowed hard and looked up at Castiel. He'd pushed his glasses up on top of his head and was now rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Long day?" he joked, flashing Castiel a smile.

Castiel returned his smile. "Actually, it's just beginning."

"Well, I'm sure it'll get better once we're out of this elevator," Dean said. He leaned forward and put his hand over the hand Castiel had on his leg. Suddenly, the dark-haired man grinned mischievously. "What?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Castiel said innocently, sliding his glasses back onto his face.

"No one smirks like that about _nothing_," Dean pointed out. "Come on—out with it."

Castiel's grin widened. "Alright. I was just thinking, it may get better before we get out of here."

Dean raised an eyebrow, a grin of realization crossing his face. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Castiel shrugged. "I'm not sure. What do you think I'm saying?"

The taller man glanced up into the corner of the elevator where a camera was monitoring the space. Castiel followed his sight line up and shook his head. "The camera doesn't work. That's why it takes them so long to realize it's stuck."

"You're sure it doesn't work?"

He shrugged again. "Fairly certain. Balthazar said he sucked off Lu in here a few weeks ago and they're both still employed." If Dean had been drinking anything, he would have choked. "And Balthazar doesn't joke about things like that."

"Well, then." Dean snorted with laughter. "If he's telling the truth, then I'd say yeah, the camera is probably broken."

"Exactly my thoughts as well." Castiel grinned. "Have you ever gotten laid in an elevator?"

Dean grinned and shook his head. "No. But…" He bit his lip. "I wouldn't mind it."

Castiel grinned back and scooted to the other side of the elevator, next to Dean. The taller man turned his head to look at him and chuckled apprehensively.

"Nervous?" Castiel asked. He reached up and gently ran his fingertips over Dean's cheek.

Dean's heart was racing. He'd met this man twenty minutes ago but here he was, stuck in an elevator with him. He couldn't say no to those beautiful blue eyes. He already loved seeing that smile, loved knowing he put it there. Castiel was right—he _was_ special. "A little," he admitted softly.

Castiel gave him a reassuring smile and kissed him gently. "Me, too."

Damned if that wasn't the sweetest kiss he could remember. He wanted to feel those lips pressed to his again. "All the times you've been trapped in elevators and you never did this?"

He shook his head. "This is the first time someone else has gotten stuck with me."

"I wouldn't consider myself 'stuck' with you." Dean smiled. "I think it's more like I'm lucky enough to be caught here with you."

Castiel smiled again—they'd both been doing so much of that in the past few minutes that Dean half-expected their smiles to just jump off their faces—and leaned back in. For a moment or two, their eyes locked, and then Castiel brushed his lips against Dean's again.

On the dirty floor of an elevator in an office building Dean passed hundreds of times before today, he had his second kiss with a man whose name he didn't even know fifteen minutes ago. It all started happening so fast but he didn't want to stop it. The moments were magic, slipping past quicker, easier than the slip of Castiel loosening Dean's black silk tie. He wasn't sure he breathed as Castiel's fingers traced teasing lines and swirls over his dress shirt, against his chest. He ran his fingers over the sturdy leather of Castiel's belt, pulling it open as his nose accidentally bumped Castiel's glasses. The smaller man chuckled against Dean's mouth, pulled off his glasses, and put them in the pocket of his jacket. Then they started that rhythm of kisses again and Castiel's fingers bunched up the fabric of Dean's shirt and Dean's hand accidentally-on-purpose grazed across the hardening length in Castiel's pants. They both moaned softly and then suddenly, Castiel was no longer next to Dean but in front of him, on his knees between Dean's outstretched legs, and they began fumbling with the front of each others' trousers, trying to keep their lips pressed together but once or twice, Dean's teeth locked down on Castiel's lower lip, and a few more times, Castiel's tongue ran along the roof of Dean's mouth, against his tongue, over his lips. Dean couldn't help but moan at the feeling of that slick heat.

He slipped Castiel's jacket from his shoulders and flung it across the space a moment before Castiel finally unzipped Dean's trousers. Dean bit his lip, a failed attempted to stifle a groan as he managed to pull down Castiel's pants. He wasn't used to rushing like this and he _definitely_ never had quickies at work, but the thrill of doing something completely different spurred him on, encouraged him. Castiel helped him shimmy out of his pants, dragging them down past his knees, his fingers trailing sparks down his thighs. He crushed Dean's mouth with his again, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Dean's boxers and tugging at them, eliciting another low moan from the taller man. Not to be outdone, Dean palmed the bulge in Castiel's briefs and grinned against his mouth as the dark-haired man groaned softly. Suddenly, Castiel pulled back, smirking. He slowly, tantalizingly, put three fingers to his lips and wrapped his tongue around each one in turn. Dean's mouth went dry as Castiel thoroughly coated each digit, still smirking. As he watched, Castiel withdrew his fingers and leaned back in to kiss Dean again.

As one of Castiel's fingers slipped inside him, Dean let out a sharp groan. He quickly bit down on his fist to stifle the sound—God help him if the elevator started moving right now. "Are you okay?" Castiel breathed, his lips brushing against Dean's ear, and Dean nodded frantically. "Good." He worked his finger in deeper, nudging the taller man's prostate, and Dean gasped, his eyes screwing shut. By the time he had all three fingers buried inside him and his other hand stroking Dean's cock, the taller man's whole body was shaking. He slid down the wall a few inches, allowing the dark-haired man to move over him, and tried to contain his moans. He needed to avoid tipping off the maintenance crew or whoever the Hell it was who fixed the elevator because he did _not_ want to be interrupted anytime soon.

Right on cue, though, a voice came through the speaker underneath the panel of buttons. _"Is anyone in there?"_ Castiel and Dean exchanged a look—Dean's was panicked while Castiel's was more amused.

"Yes. This is Castiel Novak and I have Dean Winchester in here, too." He shot Dean a smirk suddenly and breathed, "You have to be quiet. We don't want them to figure out what we're doing in here, right?"

"_Are you okay in there?"_ Dean let out a faint whimper as Castiel's fingers teased his prostate.

"Yes, we're fine," Castiel said cheerfully. "No need to rush just yet." How he could sound so fucking _normal_ while Dean was going to pieces was completely beyond the taller man's comprehension. Castiel was finger-fucking him into oblivion, looking so calm and cool. He just wanted to get out a loud moan, _anything_ to get Castiel to wrap up this conversation and just fuck him. He had to remind himself that he wanted to be employed here tomorrow, though, and that Castiel could probably lose his job, too.

"_What about Mr. Winchester? We need verbal confirmation from both of you."_

Dean swallowed as Castiel dragged his fingers across his prostate. How was he expected to sound even remotely normal with this going on? "Yeah, I'm okay." His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

"_How long have you been stuck in there?"_ the voice went on. Dean gritted his teeth, reached up, and pulled Castiel close, hissing, "If you don't fuck me in the next ten seconds, you can just cancel our lunch date."

Castiel grinned and breathed, "I love it when you get forceful." Louder now, to the speaker, he said, "About ten, maybe fifteen minutes. We couldn't call, though." He pulled down his briefs and aligned his cock with Dean's entrance. "My phone is out of service range and Dean's is dead." Castiel licked at Dean's ear and slowly pushed himself into Dean. Dean's mouth fell open in a nearly-silent moan. "So we're just waiting here and getting to know each other."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean whispered. Castiel gave one quick thrust into him, and Dean nearly moaned. He just barely contained it at the last second, though, and instead, he dug his nails into Castiel's shoulder. "You have to get rid of this guy, Cas. I… _fuck_," he whimpered with another well-aimed thrust from Castiel. "I can't do this much longer."

"_Alright, Mr. Novak. We'll try to get you two out of there as soon as possible."_

Castiel thrust into him again, smirking at Dean's pathetic-sounding whimper. "How long do you think it'll be? Five minutes? Five hours?" He leaned into Dean's neck, tracing up the side with his tongue before nibbling on his earlobe.

"_Probably a little closer to an hour. We'll keep you updated, though."_

"Thank you. We appreciate that." He paused for a few moments, waiting for a response. When there was none, he grinned thrust into Dean as hard as he could. Dean let out a loud, sharp moan. When there was still no response, Castiel slid out of Dean, much to the taller man's annoyance.

"Cas, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Get on your knees," Castiel breathed into his ear. Goose bumps shot down Dean's arms and, without a beat of hesitation, he turned over. Castiel then slid his cock back inside Dean, setting up a punishing pace.

From this angle, it was easier to meet every rock of Castiel's hips. He groaned, letting out a string of cursing that would have made a sailor proud. "Jesus, Cas," he panted. When the shorter man hit his prostate three times in rapid-fire succession, he almost felt his arms give out. Then Castiel reached around him and began pumping his cock in time with his thrusts. Dean started moaning again, louder and louder until he was sure the whole building could hear him, but Castiel didn't shush him. He'd started to moan as well, softly into the back of Dean's neck as his breathing and his thrusting grew more erratic, less controlled. "Oh, Dean," he groaned, grinding into him harder.

The elevator suddenly gave a lurch and started rising. Before Dean could even form a coherent insult to sling at the lift, Castiel threw his hand out and smacked the emergency stop button. Tightening his grip on Dean's hips, he picked up his pace, breathing out Dean's name.

"Oh, God, Cas," Dean whined, struggling to support himself. He was so close to orgasm that he was already going blind, dragging his fingernails against the tile of the floor. One last hard, deep thrust sent him over the edge, gritting his teeth and keening as he came, his seed splattering across the floor. A moment later, Castiel followed suit. His nails nearly broke the skin over Dean's hip; he moaned loudly, burying himself as deep as possible into him, filling his insides.

For a few moments, the only sound in the elevator was soft panting as both men struggled to catch their breath. "Are you alright?" Castiel asked softly.

Dean nodded slowly, letting out a long breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He chuckled. "I think we should clean ourselves up, though."

Castiel laughed and pulled out of Dean. The taller man hissed softly and turned over. "Is there come on my pants?" Dean asked.

Castiel raked his eyes up and down Dean's body, a smile creeping across his face. "No, Dean."

"Good."

Castiel slid his glasses back on and shrugged out of his jacket. "Here. Use this to wipe up the floor."

Dean snorted with laughter but accepted the jacket. After they'd both pulled their pants back up, Dean handed Castiel's jacket back to him. "For the record, I'm not getting the dry-cleaning bill. This was _your_ idea."

Castiel smiled and draped his jacket over his shoulder. "Alright, Dean." He hit the button for the eleventh floor again, and the elevator bumped back to life.

* * *

After Dean got his account on the paper intranet set up, he and Castiel went right to lunch. If possible, talking with Castiel, getting to know the man behind the desk, was better than having sex with him. Not by much, but still. By the end of the day, Dean was pretty much convinced that deciding to work at this newspaper was one of the best decisions he ever made. And by the time Dean's first year at the paper was over, he was absolutely positive that Castiel was his own personal angel.

Castiel never got stuck in another elevator again. He often joked that it was inevitable that the first person to be caught with him would stay with him.

* * *

**Crappy smut is crappy. I TRIED, OKAY?! It was so freaking hard to write this chapter. I just want to go back to "Blue Archangel"! But I won't. "Finishing Touches" is next.**


	9. Scene Nine: Of Rock Stars and Heaven

**This is a bit shorter than my last few updates, mostly because I'm anxious to get back to "Finishing Touches." I may post an extended cut of this later, but don't count on it.  
**  
**Thanks to Aliniah, Casismyfavorite, Keefer, Kathrin J Pearl, Sexy. Lil. Emo, mishahastakenovermylife, CalmintheChaos, han00na, Castiel52, gabbie93, westc0astsm0ker, Paulathe Cat, aLoggedInReader, silken touch, and two guests for your reviews of all the previous chapters. Sorry I never got around to thanking you before! And if you haven't voted in my poll yet, go do it!**

**For Mems, who gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition.**

* * *

_Flash!_

The phone next to Dean rang, echoing through the lobby. He glanced at Jo, the unspoken message coming across loud and clear: _You answer it._ Dean was helping a guest and Jo was free, so it stood to reason that she answer. She rolled her eyes put picked up the phone. Tossing her hair back, she said in her sweetest voice, "Elysian Fields front desk, this is Jo speaking. How may I help you?"

"Here's your room keys and a list of services we have here," Dean said to the guest in front of him. He slid the key cards and pamphlet across the desk with a winning smile.

"Great. How late is the pool open?" the guest asked.

Dean was a professional, which was why he didn't roll his eyes. If the guy had just looked at the damn brochure, he would have been able to answer that for himself. But he kept his cool and answered, "Pool hours are six A.M. to eleven P.M., but the sauna hours are seven to ten. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The guest flipped the brochure over for a moment, scanning the front and back, before shaking his head. "Nope, that'll do it. Thanks."

"You're welcome, sir. Enjoy your stay at Elysian Fields!" he called as the guest picked up his briefcase and went to the elevators.

As soon as the lobby area in front of the desk was clear, Dean's customer-service smile slipped. He waited impatiently for Jo to get off the phone before muttering, "They're making me work late tonight because of that damn high-profile party coming tonight."

Jo let out a huff of annoyance. "Yeah, me, too. I could be getting drunk tonight, but instead, I'm stuck _here_." She glanced around to make absolutely certain neither a guest nor their boss Zachariah was around anywhere. "Fuck this place," she spat. She tugged on a lock of her hair before flipping it back over her shoulder. "What time is this party coming, anyway?"

"Like three or something." Dean glanced at the clock behind the desk. It was only two o'clock. "Did Zachariah say anything about them to you?"

Jo shook her head. "Just that they're celebrities and the whole party is booked under someone named Fergus Crowley. Ring any bells?"

Dean scrunched up his face to think and shook his head. "Nope, doesn't sound familiar. You?"

"Nope. Probably some movie star's agent and they're showing up with an entourage or something. They booked like six rooms, didn't they?"

Dean pulled up the reservation information on the computer and nodded. "Yeah, they did. You're probably right." He sighed. "Great, now we're gonna be swamped by prima donnas. _Just_ what I wanted to deal with tonight."

"Well, there _is_ a plus side to this." At Dean's questioning look, Jo grinned. "If they're famous, they're probably hot."

"Hmm." Dean had to admit that she had a point. Most celebrities, specifically movie stars, _were_ attractive. They hadn't had any really good eye-candy here in awhile, so maybe it wouldn't be all bad. "I bet they have an ego the size of Texas, though. Especially if they're bringing a freaking entourage."

"I can deal with a little douchebaggery if they're hot enough," Jo said. Dean knew she wasn't joking.

Zachariah came by about a half an hour later to make sure Dean and Jo looked presentable. Even though it didn't need fixing, he barked at Dean to straighten his tie, and then he told Jo to fix her hair. Dean let out a sigh of relief when he finally strode away. Jo stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.

"Ha. Real mature there, Harvelle."

She put her hands on her hips and shot him a dirty look. "Screw you, Winchester."

They made faces at each other for the next twenty minutes, only stopping when one or two guests came to the desk to ask about new room keys or to ask about some of the tourist destinations close by. Why they didn't just Google it, Dean didn't know, but he wasn't stupid enough to tell that to a guest.

The front doors slid open at five minutes until three and a man wearing a business suit and a seriously pissed-off expression walked through. He cast a quick look around the lobby and went straight to Dean. Without preamble, he said in what was an unmistakably Scottish accent, "I have a reservation for six rooms, all booked under Crowley."

"Yes, sir. And you'd be Mr. Crowley, in that case?"

"Yes." He gave Dean a rather unpleasant look, but he was used to those and brushed it off.

"Alright, sir. I need your ID and the credit card under which the reservations were made."

Crowley dug both cards out of his pocket and slid them across the desk. Dean pulled up the information for the reservation and started coding key cards.

"Which rooms are the farthest apart?" Crowley asked suddenly.

"Hold on. Let me check that for you." The question had taken Dean by surprise but he regained his cool and pulled up the room layouts. "That would be 517 and 531."

"Great. Can you do me a favor? When you make those keys, can you put 'M' on one and 'L' on the other?" When Dean looked up, Crowley explained, "Two of my… clients don't get along very well. I'd like to keep them as far from each other as possible."

Dean nodded. "Of course." As he finished up the last key, the doors slid open again and a group of five more guys sailed in. Dean glanced up and just barely registered the first four—one tall, Dean's height, with reddish-blond hair and blue eyes that looked angry, one a bit shorter with blue eyes, a young-looking face, and brown hair, one about his height with dark hair and eyes, and one shorter than the rest with golden hair, eyes the same color, and a grin—before his gaze settled on the fifth just as his eyes landed on Dean.

It felt like a bolt of lightning went through him. It wasn't that he was attractive—and make no mistake, he was absolutely stunning. He had dark, messy hair, wide blue eyes that seemed to dig right into Dean, to see through him and right down into his soul. And that mouth—Jesus, Dean couldn't look away. But even more than how beautiful this man was, there was a sudden sense of familiarity, like he knew this man from somewhere. He just couldn't quite figure out _how_.

"Alright, Michael," Crowley said, sorting through the small stack of keys. "Here. You're in 517." The young-looking man with brown hair and blue eyes came forward to claim his key and then went right to the elevators. "Raphael, you've got 519." The dark one grabbed his key and followed Michael. "Gabriel, 523." The short one snatched his key out of Crowley's hand, flashed Dean an amused grin—_Did he see…?_—before darting after the other two. "I've got 525. Castiel, 529." The dark-haired one, the one who couldn't seem to look away from Dean, took his key and crossed the lobby, glancing back every few seconds. _What the Hell?_

He barely heard Crowley say, "And Lu, you're in 531." Both the strawberry blonde and Crowley went to the elevators, too. It wasn't until the doors closed behind Castiel, though, that Dean finally focused back on the desk.

Jo, who had been silent this whole time, finally said, "Wow."

"What?"

"You and that Castiel guy. That was so freaking _weird_. He just did not want to stop staring at you. It was like he recognized you. Do you know him?"

"I… I've never seen him before." He tried to deflect the situation with humor. "Safe to say they probably weren't movie stars, right?"

She shot him an all-knowing look. "Dean, you had a moment with that obscenely attractive guy. He was definitely giving you all kinds of 'fuck me' looks. You should—"

"No," Dean interrupted, checking for Zachariah. He could be lurking anywhere. "He's a guest. That would be a little messed-up."

Jo scoffed. "So, what you're saying is, if he called down for you right now and asked you to come up to his room for something, you wouldn't go?"

"No, I'd go, but because that's my job and he asked for me. But that's a pretty big 'what-if.' I highly doubt that's about to happen."

Jo gave him an exaggerated shrug. "Whatever. But I'm just saying, it wouldn't surprise me if he made a move."

To Dean's surprise, Jo was right. It was several hours later, after Michael and Raphael had left, but the phone rang next to Dean. Since Jo was helping out a guest, Dean picked up and answered smoothly, "Elysian Fields front desk, this is Dean speaking. How may I help you?"

A sinfully low, rough voice said, "Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. I'm in room 529, and my air conditioner isn't working. Could you… or someone take a look at it?"

The way he'd added "or someone" didn't escape Dean. He was obviously hoping it would be Dean coming to check it out. After the whole situation processed in his head, he only had to think about it for a split second. "Absolutely. I'll be up in about five minutes."

After telling Jo he'd be back in a minute, he headed up to Castiel's room. While he was in the elevator, it suddenly occurred to him that Castiel could have just been lying about his AC not working. That thought almost made him laugh. _Well, at least I'll know for sure that he just wanted to see me._ With a smile, he stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor and went to 529.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It opened a moment later, and the first thing Dean registered was the messy mop of dark hair, and then those vividly blue eyes. He was suddenly grateful he'd taken that deep breath because the all the air whooshed out of his lungs at that moment.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said in that same sweet, knee-melting voice.

"Hello, Castiel," Dean said. He pretended he couldn't hear the tremor in his own voice. "Your air conditioner isn't working?"

"Yes." Castiel held the door open to allow Dean entrance and stepped aside. "Gabriel was in here earlier and he mentioned the temperature." Dean crossed the room to the AC in the far wall as Castiel continued. "So he went over there and tried to turn on the unit. It didn't work. I've been trying to figure it out ever since."

Dean looked the AC over, made sure it was plugged in, pushed a few buttons. Absolutely nothing. "Hmf." He turned back to Castiel, who had somehow managed to sneak up behind him. When he actually turned, he found himself almost nose-to-nose with the smaller man—Castiel was about two inches shorter than him. He tried not to notice that all he'd have to do to kiss Castiel was lean forward. Apparently, this guy had some personal-space issues. "Well," he started, pretending his heart wasn't racing at their proximity, "I can get the maintenance guys up here in a few minutes. I honestly don't know how long they'll take to fix your unit, so I can move you to a different room, if you'd like."

"Would it be close by?"

"No. Our closest available room is on the eighth floor."

Castiel shook his head. "Crowley wants us to stay together. I can manage without air conditioning for awhile."

Dean nodded in acceptance. Despite his better judgment—and the fact that it was none of his business—he asked, "Who are you guys, anyway? My manager was walking around with a bigger stick up his ass than normal because of you." He realized too late what that sounded like, but Castiel appeared not to notice.

"We're a band. Gabriel plays bass. Michael and Lu play guitar. Raphael is the drummer. I sing. Crowley is our manager."

"So you're on tour now?"

"Yes. We're about halfway through. It's our first tour, but all our shows are sold-out. We have one tomorrow night." Castiel looked up at Dean, his blue eyes wide and unblinking. "We're always allotted so many tickets at shows for our own guests, but we never use them all. If you'd like, and if you don't work tomorrow, I can get you a ticket. Or two, in case you want to bring your girlfriend."

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "I'd love to come. But I don't have a girlfriend."

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "Boyfriend?" He seemed to be gauging Dean's response.

The taller man laughed softly. "I'm single, man." He returned Castiel's sudden smile.

"I'll talk to Crowley about getting you a ticket."

"That sounds awesome. Um, I'm Dean Winchester, by the way."

"Castiel Novak."

* * *

Dean tried to tell himself all the next day that it was stupid, thinking there could be something between him and Castiel. After all, Castiel was in a band on a tour. He knew nothing about the guy—for all he knew, Castiel did this before every show. Castiel was definitely flirting with him, that much he knew for sure, but it was stupid to think that there was something more.

But by the time the show ended, it was pretty obvious just how unusual this was. Michael and Gabriel kept exchanging glances every so often after looking at Castiel. Castiel, for his part, kept his eyes glued to Dean pretty much the whole night, which was just fine because Dean couldn't keep his eyes off Castiel. He looked beautiful, stunning, just like an angel.

Dean's ticket included a backstage pass, so after the show, he got to actually talk to Castiel again. As soon as the band came backstage, they did their schmoozing thing with the other people who had backstage passes, except for Castiel who stayed with Dean the whole time, just talking. He didn't know what to make of it except maybe, just maybe, Castiel did feel like there was something pulling them together, something neither of them could fight.

Before Dean left for the night, Castiel pulled him aside—farther away from his band—and said, "Look, Dean. I know that we're in the middle of a tour right now and I know I met you yesterday. But to me, it feels like we've known each other much longer. I… The way things are right now, I don't know if I'll ever see you again, but I know I want to. If you'd like, we have room on the tour bus for one more. I'd understand if you didn't want to leave your job or—"

Dean didn't even have to think about it. He grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and pulled him close, kissing him hard. God, those lips of his were as soft as they looked. Castiel locked his arms around Dean's waist, pressing himself closer to the taller man. Dean finally pulled back, smiling. "I'd love to."

Castiel's smile could have lit up Heaven.

* * *

**I originally planned this to be smutty, but then I decided that not everything needs to be smutty. I mean, the last "The Reckoning" update had four pages of smut at the end and "Finishing Touches" is gonna be hella smutty, so... Whatever. One more scene for this and then the dramatic reveal! (Can anyone maybe guess what's going on?)**


	10. Scene Ten: The Relocation Expectation

**This wasn't even supposed to be started right now, but I accidentally a long update. It's the last update before the big reveal, and so far, a few of you have gotten pretty close. I just... I can't. I may post the reveal tomorrow because most of the finale is written. I just need to put a few finishing touches on it.**

**Speaking of which, "Finishing Touches" is supposed to be the next update. Brace yourself for feels - not in the next chapter, but the one after it. Just...BRACE YOURSELF.**

**For Mems, who gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition.**

* * *

_Flash!_

The roar of the Impala was a comforting sound. The Impala was the one constant in Dean Winchester's life, the only thing that had remained the same. Even as his life shifted, rearranged itself, becoming something so totally different that he almost didn't recognize it, the Impala was a perpetual entity. Throughout his forty-one years, wherever he was, the Impala, his baby, was the one thing that never changed.

She had originally belonged to his father. John Winchester had bought her a few months before Dean was born. At the time, John had no way of knowing he was really just preparing her for his impending child, but by the time Dean was sixteen, it seemed that the Impala and Dean were destined for each other. She was the car in which Dean learned to drive. She was the car in which Dean—unknown by John, of course—lost his virginity less than a year later. When Dean went to college at eighteen, he took the Impala with him; she became his in every sense of the word.

And sure, Dean's younger brother Sam had had a few significant moments in the car, but he was fourteen when Dean went off to college, and that was all there was for him. He didn't even learn to drive in her—instead, he took his road test in their mother's Volkswagen van.

Dean barely scraped by college with a Bachelor's degree in business. He was more concerned with spending every free moment he had at the school's auto garage, honing his mechanic skills to better care for his baby. At that point, the Impala, a black 1967 model, was thirty years old and Dean didn't trust any of the mechanics by the school to treat her right. He relied on himself to change the oil, rotate the tires, check the fluid levels—Hell, by the time he graduated from college, he'd learned how to do basic body work for her. He cared for her like no one else could.

But when Dean was twenty-six, things started changing. John Winchester had a heart attack, and then another one eight months later. The second one killed him, sending Dean into a dark depression. One day not too long after the funeral, stricken with grief, he found the sledgehammer in the garage and smashed damn near every inch of the Impala, breaking windows, headlights, taillights, denting doors, the hood, the trunk, until he couldn't swing the sledgehammer anymore. He collapsed against the side of his baby, drew his knees up to his chest, and sobbed. That was how Sam found him twenty minutes later, stunned at both his brother's display of emotion and the state of the Impala.

Maybe it was a mistake, but less than a month after the funeral, Dean proposed to his girlfriend Lisa. She'd been taken by surprise because they'd never really discussed marriage, but she happily accepted. Neither of them really cared that they'd only been dating for a year or so. It didn't matter. They were in love.

They got married not too long after that with Sam as his best man and Sam's girlfriend Jessica as Lisa's maid of honor. They moved out to San Diego, where Lisa was originally from, and settled into their new life. For the longest time, Dean had by turns told himself he'd make a great father and he'd make a terrible one. It was during one of the latter times when Lisa told him she was pregnant, and he tried to be happy about it, but he started to worry.

And then came Lisa's miscarriage. Dean tried to make himself feel bad about it, but he couldn't help being a little relieved. And then she got pregnant again. Another miscarriage two months later. Four times, she became pregnant, and every single time, she miscarried. They finally went to the doctor and discovered that Lisa was unable to carry a baby to full term. For the first time, Dean felt just as gutted as she did. After all, it was one thing to not be ready for a child _right now_. It was quite another to find out that you could never have kids at all.

They got home and Dean drove around in the Impala for seven hours, only stopping for gas. He ranted and raved like the Impala could give him some sort of answer, but when he finally fell silent, all he could hear was the soothing rumble of his baby's engine.

Nothing was ever quite the same with Dean and Lisa after that. They started fighting over stupid little things. Their little habits—Dean consistently forgetting to take out the trash, Lisa leaving the windows in the living room open when no one was home—started to grate on each others' nerves. It was the beginning of the end, and shortly before their fourteenth wedding anniversary, Lisa filed for divorce. He couldn't blame her, and he signed the papers with hardly a second thought. They kept it as clean as possible and Dean let her have the house. He didn't want to stay in San Diego anyway—he wanted to go back to Lawrence, Kansas.

Now the Impala was packed full of his things with a mini U-Haul stuck to the back with the rest of his possessions. He was driving home now, ready to crash at his old house until he could get back on his feet.

He pulled off the interstate and under the overhang of a gas station with the sun setting behind him. He started to climb out of the Impala, but to his surprise, a gas station attendant appeared out of nowhere. His hair was golden under the grease and there was about a day's worth of stubble on his face, but the strangest feature of this fairly short man—he was a solid five inches shorter than Dean—was his golden-green eyes that were almost the exact same shade of gold as his hair probably was when it was clean. "Hey," he said to Dean with an easy smile.

"Hey." Dean's eyes went to the name tag sewn onto the other man's dirty, vertically-striped shirt. _Gabe._

"Want me to fill 'er up?"

Dean glanced at his baby. "Y-yeah. Thanks." He dug three twenties out of his wallet and handed them to Gabe, who went right to the fuel nozzle. Dean almost told him to go to the back—the Impala's fuel tank wasn't on the side, after all—but Gabe must have seen the style before because he knew exactly where the tank was.

"Just passing through?" Gabe asked.

"Yeah. How could you tell?"

"Well, the U-Haul was a big clue," he joked, his grin widening. "Plus you look exhausted. Where ya heading?"

"Lawrence, Kansas."

"What for?"

Dean chewed on his lip for a moment. "Just finalized my divorce. I'm heading back home so I don't have to see my ex."

"I'm sorry to hear that." When Dean looked up in surprise, it was clear from Gabe's expression that he genuinely was sorry. "Were you married long?"

"Almost fourteen years."

"That really sucks."

"Yeah. Thanks." Dean turned and squinted into the setting sun. His mother wasn't expecting him for a few days, so he had some time to kill. "Any good motels around here? Preferably one near a bar."

"Yeah, there's Elysian Fields just down the street. They got some good rates, and Boomer's is right across the street. Plus, they got some pretty hot bartenders," he added with a grin, as if trying to cheer up Dean.

"Huh. Sounds good. Thanks."

"No problem." Gabe handed him a five and some change after he re-holstered the fuel nozzle.

"Thanks," Dean said, sliding back into the Impala and dumping the change in the cup holder next to him. He started up the Impala and smiled as the fuel needle went all the way to the F. He put her in gear and double-checked that there weren't any other cars coming.

As he pulled away, he heard Gabe yell, "Good luck, Dean! I hope you find what you're looking for!" Dean stuck his hand out the window and waved in acknowledgement. It wasn't until about thirty seconds later that it occurred to him that he'd never told Gabe his name.

* * *

He tossed his duffle bag into his room at Elysian Fields and headed right back out without looking around. He knew what the room looked like, and he didn't want to spend more time in it than absolutely necessary. He wanted to get dinner, have a drink or three at Boomer's, and stumble back to his room, too drunk to notice the shitty décor. He was somewhere in Nevada and he was pretty sure this would only be the first of several filthy motel rooms he would want to forget.

Even though he had some trepidation with leaving his baby in the parking lot of the motel, the gas mileage was already jacked up as it was, hauling that U-Haul around. Spending fifty-five dollars on one tank of gas wasn't his idea of pleasant. So he left her there and just walked to the nearest burger joint, which was just down the street. That was one thing that could be said for small towns—everything was close to everything else. He was in and out of the diner in a half an hour and he headed to Boomer's, hoping the drinks were cheap. If he was _really_ serious about saving some money, he probably wouldn't have gone out to a bar at all, but he wasn't too serious about it and he needed something to wipe away whatever was going on in his head.

The sun had already set when he pushed open the door into Boomer's. A blast of what sounded like AC/DC from the jukebox greeted him and he felt himself smiling. This place wasn't so bad. Even though it was dark and dingy, just like nearly every other bar in the country, he felt at home. He headed to a barstool and sat down as the song ended and a Motörhead song started up in its place. There was a dark-haired bartender with his back to Dean a little ways away, but he wasn't in a hurry anymore and he took another moment to glance around the bar. Maybe he'd hustle a little pool while he was here—he'd always been good at that.

"What can I get for you?" a low, gravely, but ultimately soothing voice asked.

Turning his head toward the voice, he said, "A shot of…" His own voice faltered as their eyes locked. _Damn._ The dark-haired bartender had turned around. That hair of his was thick and messy, as if someone had just run her fingers through it while they fucked. His eyes were the deepest, purest shade of blue he'd ever seen. His lips were pink and full but chapped, like he spent nearly every waking moment chewing on them or licking them. There was a few days' stubble built up on his cheek and a tired but curious look on his face, and it was all Dean could do to keep his thoughts PG-13-rated. "Shot of Jack," he finished lamely, suddenly feeling awkward. How long had he been staring? He hoped the bartender hadn't noticed.

If he did notice, he didn't comment. He simply nodded and pulled out a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. He filled the glass to the top and started to set the bottle back under the bar, but Dean lifted the shot glass to his lips, knocked it back with one long swallow, and slammed it back on the bar. "Gimme another."

The bartender nodded, his expression unreadable, and filled the glass again. This time, he didn't make to put the bottle away. He simply held it by the neck, his long, hypnotizing fingers wrapped around it, and waited for Dean to down his second shot. Dean motioned for him to fill the glass again, and he did so. "Thanks," Dean said after he'd knocked back his third shot.

"You're welcome. You're new here," the bartender said in that same rough, sleepy voice.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Just passing through. I'm on my way to Lawrence, Kansas." The three shots of whiskey hadn't quite kicked in yet, but he imagined they had. He was volunteering more information than necessary.

"Is that home?" the bartender asked. He set the bottle under the bar and rested his elbows on the bar top, leaning forward slightly. Dean couldn't be sure, but he thought he smelled something familiar and safe about him. It was distracting.

"Yeah. I haven't been back in a few years, but…" He shrugged. "My mom and my brother still live there." Sam and Jess had gotten married, but Jess hadn't made him move away from home. Dean felt a slight twinge of jealousy at that fact, but he couldn't fully begrudge Lisa for wanting to live near her parents.

"Is your wife with you?" the bartender asked.

_The fuck?_ Was everyone in this town psychic or something? But then he remembered that he still hadn't taken off his wedding ring. He stared at the gold band on his hand for a moment before he shook his head, pulled the ring off, and shoved it in his pocket. "I just got divorced. I let her keep the house because I didn't want to live in San Diego anyway. I'm moving back home. I didn't really want to leave anyway, but…" He sighed. "It's complicated."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the dark-haired man said. Just like Gabe, he looked sincerely sorry. "Going through something like that is terrible. I can't even imagine what that's like."

"I bet you're happily married," Dean said. He hoped he didn't sound bitter, but ever since the divorced was finalized, all he saw were happy couples everywhere, people having babies left and right. Hell, right after Lisa had her second miscarriage, Sam had called him to tell him he was going to be an uncle. Little Tommy Winchester was eight years old now and he had a three-year-old sister named Mary, after Dean and Sam's mother.

"No. I've never been married."

That took Dean by surprise. This guy was _hot_. He should have had women crawling all over him. It didn't make any sense until his blue-eyed gaze flickered toward the bar top. _Oh._ "Well," he said clumsily, because now his nearly pornographic thoughts about this man were suddenly that much more likely to happen, "I'm, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."

The bartender looked up with a small smile. "Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel Novak."

"Castiel? That's an interesting name."

"Thank you," Castiel said with a smile that said he wasn't sure if Dean's comment was a compliment or not. "It's supposedly an angel's name, but I don't know that for sure. I'm taking my father's word on that one."

"I like it." Dean wasn't sure why, but the name felt right in his mouth. "It suits you." It was an unusual name, but Castiel looked like an unusual man.

Castiel's smile widened. "Thank you, Dean," he said, and Dean loved the way his name sounded coming out of Castiel's mouth.

He smiled and Castiel went down the bar to check on a pair of patrons. Dean barely had time to miss him before he was back. On and on it went for about four hours, with Castiel hovering close by him and Dean ordering drinks just to keep him by. His alcohol tolerance was fairly high and after his first three shots, he stuck with mixed drinks and took his time with finishing them. He and Castiel exchanged a few words at a time and Dean felt something reawakening in him, something he thought was long gone.

No matter what had happened between him and Lisa, he loved her, but he hadn't been _in_ love with her in a long time. Maybe he hadn't ever been in love with her. Maybe he'd only convinced himself that they were in love. After his father died, he would have believed anything. It had probably been a mistake to get engaged so soon after his death, but he couldn't do anything about it now. But now, something warm and pleasant, something other than alcohol, was bubbling up in his chest and causing him to smile every time Castiel came back over to speak to him. It made him want to know everything about him, like if Castiel had lived here his whole life, what he'd wanted to be when he grew up, what his favorite baseball team was, how he took his coffee, what he simply couldn't do for shit. It was so stupid, but he couldn't help it.

At one-thirty, Castiel stepped out from behind the bar, loosening his tie and grabbing a jacket from under the counter. Dean felt the panic rising in his chest and he wasn't young enough or delusional enough anymore to _not_ know what it meant. He felt something, an immediate connection with this man, and the thought that he might not ever see Castiel again honestly terrified him. "Cas," he said quickly, not knowing how the nickname sprang to his mind so quickly but hoping Castiel didn't mind. "Are… are you leaving?"

"Yes, Dean. My shift is over." He motioned widely to another bartender who had appeared, a man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes that had nothing on Castiel's. "Why?"

"I…" What on Earth could he possibly say? He was leaving tomorrow, wasn't he? It was unfair for him to have this kind of bond with someone in a town of which he didn't even know the name, a place that he'd be leaving in the morning. It was stupid to expect something, anything from Castiel, even though Dean was pretty sure the other man felt something, too. Castiel's blue eyes had lingered on him longer than necessary. There was _something_. But as stupid and pointless as it was to expect anything to come of it, he opted to spill his guts. "Look. I like you. And I got the impression that you liked me. If I completely misread the situation, I understand and I'm sorry. But if I didn't…" He shrugged, emboldened by how the look behind Castiel's eyes had softened. "Well, why can't I get to know you a little better?"

"I'd like that, Dean," Castiel said. From the tone of his voice, though, Dean knew a "but" was coming. "But you said yourself that you're just passing through. It seems foolish to allow myself to become emotionally invested in someone who will be several states away by the end of the week."

"What if I wasn't leaving tomorrow?" The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. "What if I was moving here? Then what would you say?"

"That would change things." Castiel's voice was soft. "That would change things considerably. But you don't want to get stuck in this town, Dean. You might never get out again."

"What if you came with me? To Lawrence, I mean?"

"I have a job and an apartment here. I wouldn't have a job or a place to live in Kansas. What would I do, Dean?"

"I could help you find a job. You could live with me. I just… I can't lose you, Cas."

Castiel looked to be warring with himself. Dean could see the emotions battling on his face. "You don't even know me, Dean."

"That's crap. The moment we saw each other… You can't tell me you didn't feel that. That bolt of electricity or whatever it was, that instant connection—I know you felt it. It felt like I knew you."

Castiel's eyes, wide and blue and unblinking, never left Dean's face. "Yes. I felt it. There was that sense of familiarity. A rather profound bond. But still, that's no reason to—"

"Cas. It's plenty of reason. I've never felt something like that with anyone. Not even Lisa. And if there's even a chance that I could be happy with you, I want to take it." It was crazy—he'd blown into this place hours ago, never expecting to meet anyone remotely like Castiel. But here he was, basically admitting that, if Castiel asked, he'd stay here, just for the sake of finding out where this went.

A small smile spread across Castiel's lips. "Alright, Dean. What do you suggest?"

"I can stay here for a few extra days. We see if, maybe, this is something we want to pursue. I go back home for a few weeks and, if we want to keep this going, I come back for you. I don't care if I stay here or if you come back with me. It just seems stupid to let the distance get in the way of this, especially when something could come of it. Doesn't it?"

Castiel, who had sat down on the stool next to Dean's, nodded slowly. "You're right. And I… I dislike the thought of never seeing you again. I believe that your proposal is the best course of action." Dean loved the way he talked. It was formal and awkward but it hinted at intelligence, something he appreciated, and it just seemed so damn familiar. He grinned at Castiel and, following his instinct, pulled the dark-haired man toward him and pressed a gentle but firm kiss to those soft-looking lips of his.

He felt Castiel smiling against his mouth and returning the kiss.

* * *

They stumbled back to Dean's room and christened the sheets that had probably seen hundreds of other couples pass through. Neither of them really cared—they were too wrapped up in making the most of what they both hoped would be the first of many times they'd be together. It was quick and almost filthy, but that link they both felt turned it into something sweet and consuming. It was the first time in almost ten years that Dean really felt like he'd made love to someone, that he wasn't just fucking them. It was also the first time since college that Dean had sex with another guy, but it was just as good as he remembered. Better, actually, because he felt so strongly for Castiel, in a way that he hadn't cared for anyone else before.

He stayed until the end of the week, and those four days were enough to convince him that he had to keep Castiel in his life. They exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and promised to stay in contact. He made it home the following Tuesday, not quite sure what to tell his family. It wasn't until three weeks later, when he told his mother he was going back to Nevada, that he finally explained. He was surprised, even though he shouldn't have been, when Mary told him that she thought it was stupid but it may have been just the thing he needed to do. "After all," she explained, "marrying Lisa was the smart move and look where it got you."

Dean was back in Nevada less than a month after he left, and this time, he stayed for six months. Castiel quit his job and moved out of his apartment to follow Dean back to Lawrence, where Dean had gotten a small house. They both found jobs surprisingly quickly—Dean at Tony's Auto Repair as a senior mechanic, Castiel at a bar down the street from their house—and settled into their new life. It wasn't easy at first, but they had each other for support and their bond grew stronger every day. Four years later, there was a wedding ring on Dean's finger again. This time, the mate for it was on Castiel's left hand.

As fucked-up as it seemed, Dean was glad he'd married Lisa and moved out to San Diego. If it hadn't happened, he wouldn't have passed through Jericho, Nevada, and met Castiel. If he hadn't met Castiel, he wouldn't have had that sudden, deep connection that gave him strength and kept him smiling for the rest of his life. Everything had finally worked out for him, and he had another constant in his life. Once, all he'd had was the Impala, his baby. Now, with Castiel sitting in the passenger's seat, he knew he'd never be alone again.

* * *

**NO HOLDS BARRED FOR MY FINAL SCENE! Except for smut, but this scene is long without it, so...yeah.**


	11. Finale

**Hard to believe it's finished. *cue dramatic reveal* Some of you figured out what was happening, and I applaud your perception! If there's something I don't explain in this chapter that you want to know, feel free to message me for clarification.**

**For Mems, who gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition.**

* * *

Dean sat straight up in bed, heart racing. Panic flooded through him, although he wasn't sure why. "Cas?" he called, and then felt like an idiot. Why had he expected Castiel to be there?

"Oh, good, it looks like my lesson is sinking in then," said an annoyingly cheerful voice from what sounded like the sofa. Dean couldn't be sure because of the darkness, but it sounded a Hell of a lot like Gabriel. He reached for the bedside lamp, but before he could flip the switch, it turned on of its own accord—or, rather, the archangel's accord as he snapped his fingers.

"'Lesson'? You son of a bitch! What are you doing here?" Dean demanded.

Gabriel finished off his candy bar and crumpled up the wrapper. Dean was about to tell him not to throw it on the floor—because that's what it looked like he was about to do—but when the archangel held up his hands, they were empty. He'd simply mojoed the wrapper out of existence. "Well, technically," Gabriel said in a patronizing sort of way, "I'm sitting here, talking to you. What I'm _really_ doing here… well…" He grinned and a sucker appeared out of nowhere. "That's another matter entirely." He popped the sucker in his mouth and waited. For what, Dean didn't know.

"Okay, then, what are you _really_—" he started, but Gabriel held up a hand. Dean stared, his expression growing more puzzled as Gabriel put down one finger, then another. When he'd counted down to one, Gabriel pointed to a spot on the floor, about halfway between the bed and the sofa, and, as if on cue, Castiel appeared. Immediately, he turned toward Gabriel.

"_What have you done?"_

"Wow," Gabriel said, raising his eyebrows in mock offense. "You try to help a guy out, and this is the thanks. You know, you should really be grateful—it's not often I use my powers to help other people. Although I suppose I would be lying if I said I'm not reaping _any_ benefits from this." When both Dean and Castiel fixed him with half-suspicious, half-perplexed looks, he sighed and leaned back. "Okay, fine, since you two muttonheads are _still _too dense to figure it out on your own.

"You two are kind of becoming a massive pain in the ass—and not just _my_ ass, either. Sam's ass, too." He grinned, pulling the sucker out of his mouth and waving it for emphasis. "Bobby's, too, I suppose. And pretty much everyone _else_ you come in contact with on a regular basis. I mean, it's freaking _annoying_, being around the two of you. So Sammy and I—well, mostly me, but he gave me the idea—we made this plan. Yeah, the 'dreams' you had—both of you—yeah, they weren't dreams. Not really. I threw you into ten alternate realities, okay? I could have done more, but I'm assuming by now that I've made my point. Only the three of us know what happened in these alternate realities—Sam and everybody else, they don't know what happened because they weren't actually there. The other people you encountered, they were basically just copies. The two of you, on the other hand, and me, we were actually there. I changed basically nothing about either of you two—in fact, all I changed about you was making Castiel human, and that was only after what happened with the first alternate universe. That was too easy, keeping him an angel. Apart from that, though, I only changed the circumstances." He paused, popping the sucker back in his mouth. "Please tell me you see what I'm getting at here."

Dean's whole body heated at the memories that came flooding back. All those kisses, all the times he'd felt Castiel's body arching beneath him or spreading him open from above, how fucking _hot_ it had been, how it always felt like they were made for each other… That had actually happened?

Apparently Castiel was more skilled at holding back those memories, because he was still capable of coherent speech. "Gabriel, you need to stop. The ramifications of such a relationship—"

Gabriel scoffed. "Ramifications? _Really_? Castiel, newsflash: I exiled myself for millennia. Screwing a human or two… thousand," he added quietly, and then picked up again at his normal volume, "is probably the _least_ of my crimes. If Daddy doesn't care that one of His favorites is down here romancing Lucifer's vessel, which, I admit, is messed-up on more levels than I care to admit, I highly doubt He'd care if you did the same." He pondered what he'd just said for a split second before adding, "But with Michael's vessel. In the great scheme of things, there's a lot worse you could do."

While Dean sat there stunned, the golden-haired archangel went on. "Look, I changed your circumstances. I threw a _lot_ of other people in both of your paths. Dean, you even got married to someone else. But no matter what happened, you were always miserable until you found each other—and you _always_ eventually found each other. You always ended up together. _Every freaking time_, okay? Hell, by the end there, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't, but you did. So, now that it's all out in the open, you two have some…" Gabriel grinned, "_talking_ to do. I'll be on my way."

Before Gabriel could vanish, though, Castiel held out his hand, seemingly rooting the archangel to the spot. He probably could have shaken it off as the more powerful angel, but he stayed anyway. He did sigh loudly, though. "Okay, what now?"

"You were there?" Dean asked before Castiel could even open his mouth. "Every time?" He knew he'd seen him once or twice, but there was no way he'd been in every single one of their realities—at least, not that he ever saw.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Yes, muttonhead, I _was_. Scene one: A beautiful day at the end of summer. Three little kids playing at a park—or, rather, two playing and one watching. Guess what? That one little kid watching, that was me. Scene two: It's the middle of the school year and Dean is dangerously close to failing math. Castiel agrees to tutor him at his house, and who answers the door but Castiel's devoted, slightly agitated older brother? That was me. Scene three: The beginning of the hottest summer on record. Dean and Castiel meet by chance at the local ice cream shop, and can you guess who the cashier was?" Gabriel threw up his hands. "Me, of course. Four: Senior prom. On the decorating committee? Me. Five: Recruit Training Command, Great Lakes. Division 175's Assistant Recruit Chief Petty Officer? Recruit Speight, AKA _this guy_." Here, he pointed to himself. "By the way, that one was particularly annoying. I wanted to squish those RDCs like the bugs that they were. Six: The first college party either of you attended. Who's in charge of pouring drinks? Yours truly. Seven: Dean moves into his brand-new apartment, and guess who installs the cable? Me. Eight: At work at the newspaper, and look who the managing editor is. _Me_. Nine: Castiel is a freaking _rock star_, and who's his band's bass guitarist? If you haven't figured it out by now, you're not listening. Ten: Shortly after Dean's divorce, he stops at the only gas station left that still pumps your gas for you, and _I'm_ the one who pumps your gas." At that, there was something strange and sad behind his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. "Come on—I was there _every freaking time_, okay? Watching, waiting. But I never pushed you, never set anything in motion. I just wound the gears and let the clock tick, and no matter what I did…" Gabriel shrugged. "Like I said, by the last few, I was hoping that maybe you'd miss each other, especially with that rock star one, but you never did. A million chance encounters, and they all ended up the same."

"So that wasn't actually Michael and Lucifer there?"

"Oh, come _on_! Even if I had the juice to hold _one_ of them, there's no way I could hold _both_. And even if I could, I'm not stupid enough to actually put them in the same reality—which, if you'll remember, I did. Three times. Yeah. Even if they didn't manage to bust out, they could still cause some serious damage on the inside. They—well, Lucifer, anyway—would have killed one or both of you. Or me! If you were killed by one of them, you'd be _really_ dead. I mean, I probably would have been able to bring you back, Dean, but that would have made your thing with Castiel a little less special. And if they'd killed _me_, well… you'd be worse than dead. Try to wrap your heads around a million atomic bombs dropping at once. Then imagine that your entire existence—past, present, and whatever future you may have had—is blinked out. Never happened. No Dean Winchester, demon hunter. No Castiel, the sexiest angel in the garrison. So, yeah. I wasn't about to let them make _that_ a reality. Everyone besides the three of us was just a copy, a duplicate, each subtly tweaked to neither push you together nor pull you apart.

"Now, can I go?" He crossed his arms and bit down on his sucker.

"You and Sam?" Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Suddenly, Dean realized what Gabriel had said a few minutes before: _"I've been romancing Lucifer's vessel." What the fuck?_ He knew that Sam was Lucifer's vessel, but that part somehow hadn't quite sunk in when he said it.

"Oh, for the love of—_yes_, okay? Me and Sam. And don't give me that look, Dean. Your brother is a grownup and he can make his own choices. If he chooses to date an archangel, that's on him. But for what it's worth, I have no intention of making him regret it. Now are we finished with the third degree yet? I'm really trying to get out of the blast radius here."

"Blast radius?" Castiel asked, looking utterly confused. Dean, too, was a bit puzzled.

"Yes." He appeared smug as he explained. "From the truth bomb I just dropped on you guys." When neither Dean nor Castiel answered, Gabriel rolled his eyes and vanished with a snap of his fingers.

For several long moments, they were both silent. Dean didn't look up at Castiel even though he knew the angel was staring at him. It shouldn't have been a surprise to him—he'd felt something for Castiel when they first met, something he couldn't quite identify. Why wouldn't Castiel feel it as well? Hell, he'd probably put a name to it a long time ago.

"I apologize for my brother," Castiel said quietly. "I was unaware of what he was planning. If I had known—"

"Cas." Something in Dean's voice shut him up. Dean finally raised his eyes to meet Castiel's gaze. "He's right. Gabriel, I mean. He's right." He hated admitting that Gabriel was right about _anything_, but the archangel _was_ right and there was no getting around that. After all, wasn't that why they consistently ended up together at all? He thought back to those other realities, how the only thing about him that really changed was that he couldn't remember his real life. Every time he first saw Castiel, there was that flash of recognition, of belonging, like something had been pulling them together. He still felt it, although identifying it and throwing it into the light of his real life made it a little more difficult to swallow. But that didn't make it any less true, right? "I mean, you're the one who's always going on about this 'profound bond' stuff. You know he's right, too."

"Yes," Castiel admitted. "As… _flawed_ as his delivery might have been, it's impossible to declare that he doesn't have a point."

"So now what?" Still looking up at Castiel, Dean drew his legs up to his chest and hugged his knees. Castiel remained standing awkwardly, looking down and no longer meeting Dean's gaze. The hunter was pretty sure that this was how certain angels fidgeted. "I mean, what happens between us?" After all, now that the barrier had been broken down, the catalyst had initiated this reaction, it was impossible to deny. Now the only question was where to go from here. They could ignore it, pretend it never happened, but Gabriel probably wouldn't let that one go.

"I don't know."

_Stupid freaking angels._ "Look, basically, it boils down to two options. We can either go back to the way it was before… before _this_, or…" They both knew what the other option was. They could choose to not forget about it and actually let themselves be what they'd been from the start. Dean had been Castiel's from the moment he laid his hand on him in Hell, and Castiel had been his from that same moment. They belonged to each other. "I don't know, we can at least admit that there's something there, right? I'm not saying that we, y'know, have at it right now, but we both know that there's something there."

"So what would you prefer to do?"

Dean knew what he was doing. He was allowing him a way to get out of this, but that was the thing—it didn't matter anymore. "Come on, Cas. I think I've made it pretty clear that I can't just forget about this. And I'm pretty sure you can't, either." He was also sure that Castiel had known what this was a long time ago. He'd just been waiting for Dean to come around.

Castiel nodded slowly. "Yes. That would be correct."

"So, can we agree that this is something we should pursue?" He kept looking up at the angel's face, willing those celestial blue eyes to fix on him again. As if Castiel had heard that thought, he finally looked back at Dean.

"Yes, Dean."

"Okay." He swallowed. "Alright. Then I guess we should talk about this more in the morning." He wasn't quite sure what had startled him out of sleep in the first place—maybe it was simply Gabriel snapping him awake, but now that he was thinking about it, he should have been suspicious when Sam got them two separate rooms last night—but it really felt like he'd lived those ten other lifetimes and he was exhausted. It was a lot to take in all at once.

"Would you like me to leave?"

"No." He'd said it before he could really think about it, but he quickly realized that he really didn't want Castiel to leave him. He'd gotten so used to falling asleep next to him—who honestly cared if it didn't _actually_ happen? He thought it did, and that's what counted—that he actually wasn't sure he could go back to sleep without Castiel there. Automatically, he reached out for that trench coat and pulled the angel toward him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head against Castiel's stomach. Castiel seemed surprised at first but he relaxed into the embrace, gently running his fingers through Dean's hair.

"It was nice, to meet you when we were both human. We didn't have the Apocalypse looming over our heads. We could just be us. We were happy."

"Sam was happy, too. He always ended up happy." Dean smiled faintly against Castiel's coat. "That's one good thing your brother did. He didn't completely wreck Sam's life."

"I believe Gabriel's actions, though questionable, were actually admirable. I believe he could tell that we would be happier admitting this out loud."

Dean tugged Castiel to sit next to him. "Yeah. Even though he went about it like a douche-nozzle, he did know what he was doing. So maybe he deserves a thank-you. Although tomorrow I'm telling Sam to tell _him_ that he's not allowed to interfere in my life anymore." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small smile flit across Castiel's face before disappearing. _Oh._ That simple twitch drew all of his attention right to Castiel's lips and Dean suddenly wondered if they were as soft as they looked. Of course, he knew—they'd kissed thousands of times before, in ten separate lifetimes—but he didn't really _know_. But he wanted to. "Cas, can I—?"

"Yes."

Dean snorted. "You don't know what I was gonna ask."

"Yes, I do."

"Then what was I gonna ask?"

"You were seeking my permission to kiss me."

"And you're saying yes?"

"Of course. From my time as a human, I gathered that it's what two people who care about each other do in such a situation."

Dean smiled, turning their faces toward each other, and took one last look into his angel's eyes. He pressed a brief kiss to Castiel's lips, just long enough to confirm what he suspected, what he remembered from before—they were just as soft and sweet as he remembered in those dreams. He brushed his thumb over the crest of Castiel's cheek and pulled back. "That wasn't weird, was it?"

Castiel shook his head. His eyes almost seemed to shine and he stared unblinkingly at Dean. "No, Dean. It wasn't weird. It was…" He seemed to be searching for the appropriate word.

Dean felt himself smiling. "It felt right, didn't it?"

Castiel thought it over before nodding. "Yes. It felt very right."

Dean's smile widened. When he finally did go back to sleep a few minutes later, it was with Castiel snuggled up behind him, their fingers laced together. It felt like every other time they'd fallen asleep together, but better. This time, it was real.


End file.
